THE SCEPTIC

 

The sceptic on duty from Paris woke up

caught like a fly in the network of the spider

that was tickling him under the armpits  

with his long, agile legs and then he entered

the act so heart-rending and so serious of writing

then when the fear of death was rising up

in the eyes like the boiling milk on the stove

and a kind of happiness was gaining momentum

naked in the gust of wind for her trip to him

off the bridges and in the Luxembourg Gardens

and the Jews were having fun copiously, were

criticizing him and were praising him,

the amusement was surpassing the spider’s

lust for sucking the fly and the Jews were

recommending that he do an Art that be born

of dolour and lead to dolour and he was living

a life as in the siesta of the happy

and when he breathed his last in his coffin

the Jews stiffened his arm raised in the Nazi

salute in this way they stuck him into the grave

with the raised arm into the land at Montmartre

Job is saluting his dust even now in front

of the spider he spat out his heart

into the Old Testament.