the song of oscar rosenberg.

I am Oscar Rosenberg. And when I sink into white sleep it is like falling through a waste of sand. I am not like you, though I have cast my God into the putrid rivers of this city. I am a newly modern man, stripped and base, naked of head, but pure of heart. I will stand as I am under awnings and linden trees. I will seek love as spontaneously as sunlight. In a Laundromat, or in the belly of a train, I, Oscar Rosenberg, with five new liver-spots between my neck and elbow, who forgets the words to songs and whistles them with a flat metallic tone, a bundle of limbs in perpetual motion, will love and die in the streets of this city like a rook that cries out in constant, crystal syllables.