What's Up (013, 365) No more poems; There's just the fact that you're here. There is the need for more details; and to be without you It already serves as a reason for all topics. There's no more beauty. Or, on the other hand, nothing is more beautiful than nothing: Things simply differ; you, my beloved, You're no bigger than a bitch and no less than a princess. No more poems: What is the reason for bringing about what God has created? Everything already exists: the crazy dawns, your lips, All the answers and all the new dilemmas. No more melody: What's the sound not blown yet? What's the essence? The flute of angels? No; there is no science Let everything not explain, and therefore there is no poetry. There's nothing left; Nothing else: nothing worth it Not your dark look, not your dark skin, Not your loose hair or your wet mouth. There is nothing else – but... do not fear: Words live under my hair And there's still room for the most beautiful Poems.