Not to Divide
At the evening of insanity, naked and clear,
The space between things has the form of my speakings
The form of speakings of a unknown,
Of a vagabond who unties the belt from his throat
And who takes the echoes of lasso.
Between trees and gates,
Between walls and jaws,
Between this big bird trembling
At the hill which overwhelms,
The space has the form of my view.
My eyes are useless,
The reign of dust is finished,
The lock of the road put my rigid coat,
She run away more, I doesn’t move more,
All the bridges are cut, the sky will no longer pass there
I can’t to see there anymore.
The world detached from my universe.
And all the peak of battles,
When the season of blood fades in my head,
I distinguish the days of this clarity of man.
That is the mine.
I distinguish the vertigo of liberty,
The death of the drunk,
The sleep of the dream,
Ô reflections on myself! ô my bloody reflections!