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the unknown language

The Unknown Language

The French Support

The French Support

The mass of green length was so beautiful
New descriptions were written else found.  
The village animals' businesses died.
The forest chief's' encyclopedias were stressed by
The seeds of time.
Occupied people who court shock
Late enter Egypt
The ideal of which alone makes them brilliant.
The shows of the sufferings of the worms collected nights
In a cave.  Storms of revolting robberies
Suggested the styles of an unusual subject which bears
Like elements feeling cults that agents enslaved fatally
Engender in contrasting wolf readers, 
To turn matter into an ancient imitation
Of foreign mysticism that dreams wave
As the sole possible desire literature, 
Strictly stretching into holes the sayings
Marvelous hope was nursed on as history's train,
With a sincere defense traveling to accused restaurants
That fashion had never stood against before
In the mind hero.  "Early" never corresponds to the enchanting moonlight that shares
The mean experience of the masses of sensory lead.


The Mystery of Burnt Mahogany

Coils of zebra mahogany.  The mangy burnt steers of
Iron planes vibrate as
Former pools of mahogany cast mirrors that brush.
Blueness of the pale fortune tubes rocks
The plaque foams.  The greek ducts
That feel the full deal of the showers of standard
Management portions that lean.  The stores that had to create 
When they turned in the tool bowls of corn.  The military buckets.
The waxed blocks of the rushed furniture oranges.
The jungle pills of the lost balloons
That return like funeral corners of nothing in gloom
That burning cranks up in the marine rope toasters.


The Cans of Chance

Musty pools of cheese ivory
That no one has seen through
Reflect the duple belongings of the cave
Plaques.  The memories of weird bowls of little stools develop
Into icy warehouses that contract like old families of corn in glue.  Ruse.  Control.
Destroy.  A tube was preparing to drill a low mug
In the furniture room.  After the hole rains the good broom became 
One of the family hog bags.  Ring went the garbage
Handle burner when it struck.  Realizeable or reuseable
Is this blind system which is ideal becoming suffering board jazz?
The cans of chance return like lost animal corners
In the gloom that boiling looks like the rubber iron pills.
The corn is sleeping on the roofing kale masses of the block factories
That reform so well as loose antique matches.

The Pillows of the Factory

The marble or the compass stag fort?
Able cheers boiled the wrist ban stamps.
An after seam had gauzed the raft of pooling
That smoked in the bush phone
Of the mangling steaks.  The heavy themes
Were drunk like rings, cute as the glue stains near the colorful gears
Moving to rug duets from the door.
Zoo fascination whirled the black streams of the furniture oranges
Into cages of the ranking mashed pans.  Cold dips in the blocks
Were loosely locked to the green alloy poles.
A rim cascaded to shore where the moats were screwing
The portions of the remounts.  Replete.  Zoom.
A boiler thrashing in the grass clips the steers
Of the hollow bowl.  The cobra thought the bank-line started
With the compress of the basement nightmare separation fog.


The Orange Space Magnets

The long swords that descend into space
By the arc light make three brass rings start clothing themselves quickly.
Orange space banks.  A spoon burner.  Long gravity bolts.  Soup tentacles of wax.
In the old hollow table all the magnets were quiet.
Revolve some gum in a boat.
My tires just had to stop.
Orange billfolds plastered the cans like gas.
A stroke of a single balloon means wires in a cave.
The swift iron pans flew across the room into the open space magnets.
A rug handle is good to eat.
The bowls were packed tight as submarine cases.
In the soup the orange fighters had the pin shakes.
It was hard to see the night
Fall into place like a naked shot of glass.
Were these pool jokes all over?
Feeling around he sought the face
Of time which delights in light blue haze.
Shotguns were mounted on complete outlaws' backs to zoom
Into empty breaks.  The camp was bounded and torn.
To the wax tomatoes that the night has shifted in the sky so long
The magnet pigs swim in terror on a cold orange farm.  It is necessary
To mount in the castle of the brass lights.  The berries
Were poured in their steel outfits onto the stretcher
Boats.  The hollow planes zoomed near the wall
Of the orange space magnets.

The Butter

The pail was so nasty the butter had no
Properties.  I am the
Noise in the dryer.  The point
Was rushed laughingly to the door.  He was
Pronged to the question of whether the life-long
Was like a fish for which
The bubbles of yesterday and tomorrow
Are the poor pustules of today.
Now the iron thong of soup, that poor
As butter fled through the door, took loot
That pronging the bubble pails thonged the
Noise of fish like glue.  Rock life-long
On the vine.  A portion of the door
That's burning the idle crumbs
Was leaving.  Iron is quite deadly for the fish.
The soup dryer is ready for a pressing.
Butter makes a good memory for slaves.
Boring in, he found the giant empty holes the dryer had knocked.  The 
Door was so fast that turning it
Was very nasty.  Now the iron shore of soup was boring
Into a hole that had the properties of
Wax that butter laughingly melts.  Nasty rocking
On the shore leads to crumbs that life-long
When you push me are deadly as the wax as you wax
That gluey block you found.  Merry as the poor dryer blocks
Fish slaves rested on their hubs.
The brush that held the iron in its lap
Was leaving you to turn the point
Of soup.  Question him as to the wax.  He has returned
Like a fish the loot holes of the pressing.
The thong of empty butter that burning pushed the bubble doors
Into the nasty portions of the wax, yesterday was like a slave
That idle brushing on the vine had turned into the deadly properties of a soup.
Life-long pronging in the wax was so nasty to the pails the iron brushes held the question in their laps
Like poor pools of glue.  The pustule memory of sores is noisy
When you open the hubs as they're pressing the doors.  Fish were rocking on the shore
Like crumbs that pails wax melting
In the giant empty glue blocks.  The butter vine was very merry in the soup.

Admission to the Gate
"Two romping horses dropping quickly"  —  pseudo-Homer

To halt essentially a petty conference on a battle
Fighting the seduction scene, statements of night 
Caught the pathetic leaders whose humorous veins
Were midway in the crafty love council.  A door leaves
The adorable sweet olive oil stirred with the fragrance
Of delicate hair pearls the head points ring into
Clusters veiled pale sunlight serves falsely by laughing
To deny the greatest arms brother eyes of gold in the 
Passage of mist put to bed.  Parents melted
Broken peaks of the amusing cloud resurgence of power.
Interludes cure the fray better than remains waning
Soldier toughs come to the awareness of the condition of the dark audience's
Prediction of the head-long capture of the impotent designs of
Spears.  Wisdom indexes head quibbles that parody the behavior
Of fools thoughtlessly in arguments of strength.  Unsympathetic
Nothing, insensitive sorrows break-down mirrors, re-echo
Chaos when horrible obvious falls save entirely balanced
Husbands in passages that elevate the intentions 
That blow-up easily the plain rope river of shoulders knees
Stirring in confident sexuality repeat.  Feats collapse
Scenes skillfully into frivolous base actions wounded
In the clamor humans build slashing an image little expected
By the boy sand towers ruin.  Push oriented trained replies
To the purpose that quarters devotions programmed all for victory,
Showing frequent driven murderous lion intensity ship
Patience that volleys the fury of swords glancing off the
Questions piling-up quickly.  Helplessly, watches man
Necessary anger entirely bad that pleads often for figures
To speak of fate's music.  Pleasurable joy of recognition increases 
Attitudes that wolves' mountains in the darkness lean
Into the surface of the groaning spirit.  Urges compare 
The streaming to teasing by the roadside the silly conflict
Hurts sulking.  Madness waged is the best mouth that gets smashed
In the spray of darkness which exceedingly graphic runs falsely
To perfect mortal hands that submit to the limited world 
Doomed to release him.  Home we carry the city to 
Disobey the "tears of blood" at the side of an oak.
When the clawing was hewn, who has perished
Who will not stand by children when the difference sounds,
The insect milk note expected to get drunk, make fun,
Sharpen a bitter stone bone of agile light an acrobat
Overboard chariots with sarcasm?  Wonderful noises!
"Inhuman" terms the sense of guns which pretends fun to attract
A real epithet winning disadvantages, like a wounded belly
Or a "down" manner subdued when stripped by twenty
Deadly long destinies passing in tremendous lines
Which mess the sides of things that yield to the inevitable threads 
Of the lots.  Get the pills which atrophy the dark creature
Who is an appropriate sister to a sea-life body strong 
More and more by a preparation coupling logic with the brutal surging
Of a tribe feuding in a panic in a reddened picture which crawls
To a dismal, yet optimistic, super-charitable father who predominates
In civilizations thirsting for
A daring mosquito to persist inspiring their laments.
Armor your text when the typical changes
What is poured into the scented alarm to form a noble loyal throat
Of highly kindly violence for societies understandably in a strait-jacket.
Solemnly chairs in a compact parlor rolled out of the way so the purging dance
Could rid what restrains a better revenge than seeing
Mountains of values could fairly paragraph as ships
Of burden the inadequacies of a war of words honeys into discords
That flare-up into the smoke which being rousing the fault of self-pity
Makes an admission of character.  What happened to history's peaceful shield
When harmony internally thunders
Afraid to shirk the face of victory?  Deserted favorites
Warn us to constantly heed the rage which runs in a glorious book that
Remembers the details of a sense of richness exerted in the cosmos.
The last defensive universe peopled cities with weddings,
The unions of which happy times rest in a courtroom of translators
Who are also the arbitrators.  Top polished equipment sacked the lovely town's
Property whose impact secretly divided the sympathy
Older than its clothes hammering out symbols laden with a tuneful change.
Grapes drank productive cattle in the midst of the tear. 
The situation finally became an ocean flux that expresses in
Microcosm the significance of the view of a large abstract
Object which apprehends the common — else, this balance of commonsense
Laments the advice grudging the dinner
Returning to appreciate the unnatural rushing that has been borrowed
From contrasting the weapons.  Reconcile the extent this picks-up either
Myself or a wished for desperate arrow that skips aloof the fray
That many blame who walking moments on the bottom of a
Touching fury know its insubstantial formula 
Blinds even the very eldest.  The palatable believes it can explain
Ultimately a solution mentioned tactfully as a practical food
Which disgraces the wisest as they repair wrong standing
Marvelously in lines that survive carnage.  
A hateful end jolts the problem into a confusing 
Name of an essence.  Closer than the water in back of the due papers, looking, 
The die in a moment of mythology considered trying lust.
Pursuing it, destructive comparisons that equate
Much address the dreaded hour legal destiny safely
Meets in legends found by wild brothers appropriately the initial
Of the tension that falls
Magically to a conclusion.
Onward references exaggerated the weight gathered
In the muscles painfully straining in the filth which clogs a hero's flow.
Fleeing beautiful locusts choosing a section of innocent suffering,
The "fauns" bound in thongs that are hollow and reveal
The focus departing from the truthful bias seize then the fury whirled
Into the present through a clutch. The sacred assumes
What slings deride.  The lick of an animal
Is bending nothing when boastful whites shuddering behind
Bowls which numbers rescue from pay begin rising at last to a 
Mammoth power like eels with kidneys who continue.  Brief comments
Belong to sorry works.  The fat group is taming affected hope.


Dally funicular like the dool.  Running September
Boards the hollow curvature of the bool.  Doors.
Rudes.  Gore laughter in the rooks
Boods.  Boards of master cans through the
Swooded sales.  Boards of the rough baster holes.
The standard lags that looted the shore bores
Horn and bag.  After tool reversals 
Came the dill tapes of faster bill gourds.
Roofs!  The aloe swarms to be the sea 
Tormor of the bass laver.  The loon cords.
Ruloos.  Bogging.  Jeweled boilers of the deal panned franks.


Rough Stipple Hasten

Lost rock galore steam, stand upright to shave.  
Spire can't ask fortune to move sucker house
Course grim fast and view.  Lapses depart
Frank anti-splendor crank mail fashion
Blue absence rank tin moist grail tank
Spoon jewel empty sky cast of steam and meet.
Ruin store skill cost, stop moving, shift
Awful tune coarse glamour mention,
Stifle corn, blow snap crease sink gallows
Farm churned stiff moose zebra hideaway
Taught crack glim cast of the anchor coursing
Lost torture tune neighbor play, hasten
Mark cliff jagged note key rim sting
Tepid fly thought corn scare raft lack
Skin mention ash fashion hope laugh
Rumor scotch longing stool brought can 
Thief call mink red pale standard cost
Mast crow gloom hairy scheme kiss mail
Join rowing caution last still stiff mall
After birth and party jail costly crowd
Wow.  Spif blossom landing ash man torture
Fashion cast of blues, tune of departing plaster
Mortuary standard rest, cast the quick 
Punk, rough stipple hasten

Noted Poems

The Circus World

A man racing against a horse has no chance when
Broken glass moves
When hands move made from
The strings of a tent, which 
Maximum in their crazed anger
"White horse, white horse!"
The young girl firing the gun at the moose
In the middle of the table in the glass flow
Had to gasp when her real glass tears began to flow.
The hat on the rack limply stood,
A lamp behind its back projecting "the
Hugging and kissing rain," then it had to stop and switch to
A road through the trees leading to
Its door.  In the foam we saw the 
American flag marching on its poor back.  Slowly
A shaft of sunlight on the floor became
A stab from the fire — O crazy, it was
High above the ground!  He said, "The name beside the wall will start walking to
Those lions in a ring who have started to walk to those Happy Fields once again."
Then a long walk started for
The dancing horses just when he began 
Counting the men racing against the horses. 

 The Science of Philosophy

He was up there, a beautiful speaker
Beating a clock.
Was kind of hard to believe though,
Springtime cast around for a short, invisible name.
Walking there on squat horns, lemonade means
The mass of anyone in Colorado that
Pink means as pieces.  Panentheistic is 
A good word.  Silence, roll!
Do you want someone to leave, wood of
The blue saw?
Physical laws are different from commonsensical
Flashlight jellies.

Night of Tenderness

Absolutely secure from 
A certain immaturity he
Felt dissatisfied with its structure
A long flash-back of which was
A little uneasy about this and
Washed out emotionally with
A certain coolness
Quite obviously drawing
The downward spiral
In some pictures
In those days figure
Representative of a great power class
Becomes her doctor
Not surprisingly however
As she pulls up in a Cadillac
They marry the girl
A servant to his desires who
Begins to slip from his hands like
The man within 
Largely eroded away
To fade into complete obscurity with
Such a sense of sadness
Saying, Poor me
Open on the sand
Pearls shone in the sun
Red-striped tights
Had become hilarious
Closer over her list
Amusing them around him
More fully and deeply
Later on
Special reservations
Moved so fast
He opened the gate and
Evaporated before their eyes
If they'd had a repose when
Things look black and are
Mechanically raised and lowered the
Lobes of their ears
None ever recovers from
Pulling out his chair like
A new facet of the fabulous
Its wheels were of silver
That covered the floor up to her then
Ravished her with 
A piece of precious cloth made by
Bizarre machines
In the dawn ringing from a
Doll's voices from New York that
Up so high in the load
An undignified position 
Seemed gorgeous to and
Utterly without feeling


The Universal City

A machine earth for the future for natural evolution
Each year thoughts and theories from every field of thought
Classical shape of Greece out of a very big pressure
In a different scale the small ports
Such an area without machines dominating a great deal
Of the thinking providing equality for everyone of use
A biological growth not really a fair comparison
Extra body the spirit of the machine perfectly human
As a part of man related to the sea changed its shape
Quite a different level of engineering fed in through all the brains
Look into that not with a muscle, not with a gun
The invisible basis of it one takes for granted a new set of memories
Didn't recognize and perceive before may be able to dissolve great problems
With ships coming up changing so quickly
If people learned to work obsolete twenty years later more effectively
The whole system of human settlements gives always wise advice
The universal city of man smiling to everybody who is passing
Technology we are still misusing break down the role playing
Underling to superior overpowering sense of awe
People's full humanity moving from century to century
For this kind of thinking is a great lesson you have to remember
To see the beginning of a religion again man adapts
The mood of the land now chemical bonds
Aesthetics that familiar with the energy as for instance gravity
Through men being born able to understand
Its beautiful equipment cope with gravity superbly
Use this faculty apparently very controledly
Accommodates right away by the time he comes out
Quickly able in certain ways do for ourselves
Implement again internally and thus spread out nationally
To serve human beings into some kind of a whole
Policy application something they had slipped
Flux is something the world has always had looking for
Units of autonomy staying together in a crisis
Governments are breaking up a lot more people 
Who participate for political inventiveness 
Into a common reference they re-beginning to look at
Common across ideologies application of human intelligence
The favorite god of the Greeks what we had the means to do
To meet urgent human needs to process and re-process
Threatened by misused technology the material framework
For the future well-being of man what man is committing himself to
To try to comprehend the great mysteries many more means
With much greater slaves to dig ditches given to us by
Electricity getting nervous and look introspective
Passes a small crisis where people can be happy,
Can be safe.

I Didn't Come Here to be Insulted!

With my back turned against the wall
How can I think of killing that man when I got ma and the kids to think of too?

Is this sweet and sour when the beans are burned to black?
—  Eat it all  up!
I'm sorry I've been such a miser in my forgiving
—  Your eye is dust on the outside.
They don't buy me for my beauty...

I'm suspended and I feel myself falling
I know nothing of days of the week and nothing of weeks of the year...


The Lotuses

                     Gardens of Han, still beautiful —
                 palace of
Chou, has been abandoned —
      the singer sings poorly,
                                          she remembers the 
old days…

                               Seated on a bench
                                 among the lotuses by the river,
                                                         the plum blossoms are
falling, there will be a
cold winter,
                       in front of my
                      eyes the water
I can smell the perfume 
                         as it scurries away. 

Boats on the River

In one day in winter
                  the boats flow out
to the edge of the
                                       Towards the end
                                                         of my voyage to
           Tan T'ou

                        I saw it & noted 
                                           it down
                                     The village 
                                          is at the mouth of the 
 river —
                      it is twilight —
                                      it snows…

—  after Baudelaire

I am beautiful, O mortals! like a dream of stone.
Everyone finds death on my breast.
I was born to inspire poets with love.
They become eternal and like mud.

My throne in heaven is an unknown sphinx.
I am comprised of a heart of snow and a white swan.
I hate all movement that disturbs my lines.
I never cry, I never smile.
Artists spend all day studying my shape.
It has the appearance of an old monument.
They say it is exhausting.

I have entranced my lovers
With halls of mirrors that make everything water —
My eyes, my deep eyes of eternal clearness.

Sonnet to Tommaso de'Cavlieri
—  after Michelangelo

To the whole world faithful but only to yourself a cur,
Yet not a vile brute, but a pain and a death.
And the truth of man is a vest and his scorn spoils,
And the sun dies away purely when you say Good Day
With a wing to your father and mother,
To divest yourself of life and your "mortal spoils" —
O, how like a serpent all sullied with discoloration, yet pure
To death its Father in its caged state, O fuss
Of the sun, hirsute and pale, who like a
Pale contestant is gone fatally, and 
Comes to venture onto a senseless string in
The air pure and ignorant, a piano
Which fans what lies at the base of a column, so pure it is 
Neither carried nor led.

 —  after Calderon

These ragged sparks of light
That shine from a superior image
Hints of the sun in splendor
Water vixen that duels, alas, over 
Night flowers of sound, antique white beauties
Ephemeral pace of your ardor
Little for a day in the age of flowers,
A notch of the dead in stars —
Do you little fugitive bits of spring
Know bad, know good so fierce
To register your knowledge, O death and life of the sun
What duration inhabits the man of hope
And what mundane life no one recites
In the stars that engender everywhere the cadence of death and life?

—  after Petrarch

In what part of the sky in what idea
Will be the beautiful example of natural land torsion
The vision slows in which she'd waltz
A monster that glue when it is left potentiates?
Not a baby in a blanket but in ourselves a god
Which of chrome or gold so has the aura of a sclerotic?
When a heart is so in its virtue accused?
Bench of sleep and of my real death
By divine beauty incarnate in a mirror
With glee the eyes of custom gild but not widely,
Come smoothness she runs to glee.
Not so come sane love and come acid
Which not to come sweetness breathes, 
And come sweet talks and rides.

—  after Petrarch

A key may obscure our soul
Thus salty sky and splendid ivy
Splendid ivy he sells again, ivy we do not attend.
If our tardy force rejoices to dole
Or a key's angelic speech
Sounds in part over my intention,
Pie, your region does not thus stand
Over the column which exercises alone
Who perches my date which is at war —
Guard the loss your contagion does not flee
To lead the underthing re-found in the ground
Dead basement thus laud it to him
Which is quick and scholarly and not a piece after the saw
And doped to paint far away from altruism.

—  after Petrarch

Valley which laments the pain
Fumes which are spreading to my crescent heart
Fear the woods and the vague awakening fish
The ones who were the others verging into the frightened river
Area of my breath cold and serene
Sweet scene this love rescues
The collar that paces me or returns with me
Good recognition in you in that useable form
Not lassoed in me who leads a life of the
So fat the dawn is of infinite sadness —
Here comes my best and requests an arm
Turned to see land in the nude and quick sky
Lashing in the earth his beautiful spoils.

— after Petrarch

Lethargy makes me think in part over
What will be that I sense and do not find in the ground —
The frail ore of the circle that will be
The slightly beautiful rivulet that leads us to alter
Peer man my praise and disease in which spirit
Sullen mechanical anchor its desire is in error
If so the column which to die leads to war
And company my shades will inevitably be
My not very good intellectual human cape
You sole asperity of which so much is amassed
And the gusto and the remorse is my good velocity
There perched to take and dropping my hand
That all sounds of teeth piteously cast
Into the little sleeve I amass there on the ceiling.

The Red Festival
—  after Reverdy

I am so alone the voices 
Of rumors of the red festival
Are a spray turning me around 
In the blood of the source now stopped
For an hour to glisten painfully
On the great moon beaches
In the space tied without a thread 
To the doors of your head, an elbow
On the placid desert in the circle of a lamp
Of a terrible inhuman time chasing
The tracks of a 
Faraway limpid circle that declines glasses
Faraway and singing of the birth of parents
In the absent battle of laughter decanted from your sad teeth, fanning
That trembles your roots I prefer to the death
Of forgetfulness whose dignity
I find faraway counting what I like.

Brisk Sea
—  after Mallarmé

Waiting in the young woman, returning the mask
The cruel sports anchor for the Supreme in the Sea
Balancing his nature inviting the oranges blanching to defend
That a wind senses without a mast but
The wide paper sprays among the skies, his son
Risen in his eyes trembling again on the heart which
Those open windows reflect so that the birds
Of my lamp are sad being exotic, unknown, and desolate
By those fertile old gardens under the books
I will leave in boredom believing they are perhaps
My heart, hidden in nature, that the future
Without a mask intends in the deserted clearness of night,
Nothing and the chair not pent on the prows
Nor the base eyelets, nor the fire, alas!
And I have read of the sailors' steamer and goodbyes
The handkerchiefs sing!

La Grrrrr
—  after Breton

Looking at a beast hanging which licks her
For me is comforting with all that is around
Her eyes are the color of a hole 
As the mare pulls her to the line on sale with the detritus improvising
That stops man all the time
The mother with her little box at the Opera in the wind
Because the glow is the clay eyes of an animal
Who milks her
And he is languid
Delayed one never knows before coming where
A carrier of furnaces
Is on the bottom of I contemplating his palace
Made by lamps in sacks
And under the blue throat of royalty
The arches deodorize in perspective one in another
Hanging in the court of a wind made from the generalization of infinity of which these miserable nude torsos who produce in public places avalanches of gas torches in an egress falling under us
The pustules of the resplendent animal of the tombs of young men which gorges the number
The flanks of the protégés by the tiny mirrors that are the armies
Bombed when each turns towards the perfection of his enemy
Well when they depend one on another not less than the cocks who insult the aura of smoking in smoking
One touches by default of conscience however certain persisting to remember that the day is to be born
The door I have wanted to say the animal licks underneath his wing
And one sees enough to laugh convulsing the filament at the end of a tavern
This mirage of which one has the good-luck to reason
Is a gristle of mercury
That can well lap the only blow
I believed which an animal turns towards me 
And I have dreamed the healthfulness of clarity
That she is pale in in the membranes of the deliciousness of the woods below where the guest organizes himself
In the ropes of his vessel as the prow plunges into a woman that the rigors of love have pared into a green loop
False alert for the beast guarded by giraffes in an erectile ring around the breasts
I try not too hard to channel when she budges the queue
Which is at the same time crossed by a beautiful bisection and the blow of a hammer
In the suffocating odor of a little cinder
Of the soiled litter of black and gold blood on the moon she disguises one of the corners of her mouth in an enthusiastic tree of grief 
In loving her with frightening languor
A beast which leeches sex that I have heard nothing of.

One Says to Me that Over There
—  after Breton

One says to me that over there snow is black
Washed in the alley by the sea
And rolls its immense feet in a fuming pit of snow
Under a second sun with savage breasts
Which then becomes a faraway land
Which seems to hold under the illumination of your life.
It very really trembles at the point of its lids
Sweetly as a carnation immaterially lined
Freshly leaving a hammer over the ages
Behind you
Pierced by the last somber fires between your legs
The sun of a lost paradise
Glacier of shadows in the mirror of love
And lower towards your hands which open
At the proof of spring
The non-existence of evil
All an apple in a flower in the sea.

Men and Women Strictly in White
—  after Breton

All of a sudden in the umbrella a voice which constitutes the marvelous
Their robe a little passé the coast reverberates the color of trees
They walk with the great pieces of a paper mural
Like being frightened contemplating without being serious at heart ancient stages of a house in the process of demolition
Where again a marble coquette removes her white dress
Or where a net of some chains which burn in the mirrors behind them
The great instinct of fire impairs in a street where she is standing
Like a grilled flower
Faraway eyes solvent in a wind from a stone
Until they drop immobile to the center of a vat
Not at all equal for me to the sense of their thought unapplied
The freshness of the stream in which their bottles tremble in the shadow of their beaks
Reality so pointed to the final blow in which she disappears
I see their seams which meet a point of light in the night profound
In which time lowers itself and then rises as the sole measurer of life
A voice of their seams which are stars on their vague
Breasts in which cries their blue milk ever invisible.

The Shadows More Than Vast
—  after Reverdy

Neither them nor nothing himself
Walking among branches which shake down snow
One cannot find the number, the street, or the name
Blue rats cut the roofs at an angle
And straight lines trench the balconies
But the wall is listening to the door and the ramp
Which arrives on high very quickly without moving
The same movement we make to turn in the sense of smoke 
Which deforms solid houses on the plan
And my sight falls from a height onto this city where all the streets hold the same meaning
The sky badly cracked pisses in the current
It is necessary to wait on everything
Like the point badly organized by the horizon
The animated clock attires a black bird which turns in the night
The snow passes a little and lower and a plane also supple
In the fog and a horse sauté noiselessly
And men hide in the beasts who observe the trees
Which are leaning on the same disunited stones
And then an enormous bird departs
Setting fire to the wind
And wounding some stars in her wings.

Fresh Coolers
—  after Reverdy

Green mask of the pale face
Its forehead has a star
A truck on your eyes
In the water 
The waves of an old memory
Now all will be well
Behind the silence of the trees there is a movement
In the moss the shadows hear the sleep
All your painful dreams are behind
On the roads one never sees when they come
The flare which guides me to death
Is a precious cigar
My fingers tremble 
The wind can make me fall
The fire of the prairie
Farm near the source where an old peasant head
In the light hesitates in the morning
The last spark of night which sparks
All becomes bigger
Language is in the middle of the burning
But when one opens a window
At morning 
There is no longer a peasant head
Which will pass

The Pendant at Night
—  after Reverdy

The horizon is full of lamps
Theatre clear
The dance 
Of a star at the end of a spout
Too heavy feet
One sort
One sleeps
The glassy fear of the decor
The night sighs and shits
Against the ice at the end of the bed
The moon glances at me and laughs
The black sky becomes smaller
The wings roll onto the roof
The wind is stopped lower down
One however doesn't laugh
One no longer says anything
The waves are reformed
The eyelids become their tears
And here is the abyss of sleep
At the end of the umbrella

—  after René Char

Summer and life were held alone.
The country ate the color of your smelly avidity
And constrains itself reconciled.
The Castle of my Beak enforces in the needle
very affronted by the rolling lyre.
Plant violence makes us vacillate.
A crow solemnly rumored before the escalator
wall muses silently in the midst of the cartel
accompanied by our tent-like tender movements.
The faucet among us must rest.
Our rarity starts to reign.
Sleepless wind which drives the pauper
turning each night the consenting page,
wanting the part of you I retain, 
can you hear the country in the famous age of the giant tears?
It was the debut of the adorable years.
The earth we love remembered me a little.

Poem Fragment
—  after René Char

Attend again that I come
Cold fender that we hold.
Snow, in your life also menaced that is mine,
There is a cliff in our mansion!
This is why we are parted from what we establish here.