Burdened with few associations; artificial, new, or merely temporary in usage - foreign words seem to apologize for their existence: "I am merely fulfilling a conceptual function here, occupying a position for which there is currently no qualified German." Can they really mean that? Ann Cotten incorporates them into the rattling thought machines of her poems: youthful exuberance in sonnet form, clearly articulated ideas, love with its feedback loops. Pete Doherty, Patti Smith, and Sappho haunt the nocturnal verses alongside unknown DJs and friendly allegories, awakening the next day in a linguistic substratum that must feel entirely foreign to them.