between my two calloused hands
a copia [bad word] horns
 that sound together
  yet tuned apart
and i with them a scream     a scream
rent from my two unshorn lips
beast-sounds defeated       marking the 
violence of an age
milestone [bad word] that all
       permit and all perceive
Tod und [bad word] now just empty
sounds  beauty of thirty minutes
  dragged through thirty misery-years
 one for the dead
 one for the triumphant
makes sense to me
      sense to me
what is our century
  how can this be
      can this be
my hair is matted my voice is gone
my note from the underground
         no one is listening