The universe always smokes the Milky Way
spins like a sorceress who rises up immense,
white with the garments of violet foliage
taking a step towards me, a bell of pink fire tolls
in the clouds, enlivening a soft savour of ink,
it’s raining gently on my watchfulness
the hungry wave rolls in and she, love has already
come, once I waited for her, a part of my body
immobilised between the background of the Milky Way
and the hungry wave mistaking myself for a fold
of her sheet. In the beginning she was a mauve spot
and I let the spot begin her evolution. Three or four
times the beast appeared again in my dreams just
as I came joyously towards her growing shape
and I try to catch her with jollity. I try to catch her
nonetheless she escapes me, she laughs. Humid
and frightened I’m looking on her fluttering, a moon.
She seems to pity me. I feel lonely, sorrowful
there is no one who should come and comfort me
and keep me company; I feel the tears filling
my eyes, in my innermost being I sense her
as a radium bar sending forth greenish light
as if it were the Ego with his tears, with his nation,
with his beliefs, with his religion, with all his
grimaces, with his suffering on the cross. I was
waiting ashamed for the ascent on the summit
of the mountain from whence I’ll be able to watch
and undo the odious universe, to destroy the wave
and the mauve spot with her incomparably
pulchritudinous shape burst and spiders
rained down that evening the dream departed
absorbed by a mouth. Finally I gave up on her
just as some day life will give up disturbing me
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