The view this room offers is an inescapable landscape,
mountains covered with snow, walls at insurmountable height,
icy peaks and green trees gently powdered with cotton dust,
coating of icing sugar, specks of cocaine, flour ash, flower pollens;
the green trees are our friends.
Soon we will cut off these tall pines and pin them in our homes,
dress them up, make them up, fastened them in fancies –
hustling tart Tannenbäume.
Golden garlands, silver stars, chemical snow sprays,
glittering metallic shapes, figures of angels, Santas, and Virgins,
all copulating in the coniferous scent, as dizzying
as the many spruce forests enclosed in bathroom fragrance aerosols.
Overheated, they will soon lose their million needles on the floor,
some will even keep stuck in the carpet;
no vacuum can ever get rid of them,
even trying to pick them up with thumb and finger will remain infeasible,
most of them will hide deep and become invisible.
Eventually thrown in the street, the pavement will be their cemetery, million corpses,
miles of tombs, aisles of disfigured majesties, torn trees, emaciated limbs, and naked branches.