Karl Marx, within whose dreamed sleep I am the owner;
I, in my all-in-all poetry,
am sucking the sweat of the words—
The malnourished letters can no longer run
the factory of poetry.
No more sentences will be my poetry,
The ownership of poetry will pass to the words.
The restless letters are gathering in protest—
Wishing to be a poet, day by day I have turned into a class enemy.
