I forgot how sweet the malady was; it has dissipated in the morning sun, in everyday human relations, can’t you hear its droplets? A distinctive site.
Come hug me, wake me up to the time were the mountain was in my living room, give me back the ages were I saw a thriving ecology, in between concrete walls, in the brute.
There is no episode; all is a web caught in the tenders love of a woman, in the word net, fried in the open field, covered in corn leaf, and crucified with memory of black Bethel.
I cried when she said, “I will never forget your walk, I noticed you in it; the ‘you’ that would have blinded that small town. Never thought courage could come to me dressed in a uniform, his head crowned by roses with its aphids from the angst garden. For this, I say I love you.”
I cried, in the authentic language of tears, only Nerval could understand.
Lazarus, be generous, give the phone to Nerval, I am trying to reconstruct the concrete poet, who would dream about a marriage between an airless object and a Christian woman, who cares about the dignity of representation as revealed in inn.
It rained, and my mask disapproved of it, for it couldn’t conquer hearts in a mist; it yearns for mid-day sun, with clear hand and mind it wants to give the ultimatum to the child-god, a god who promises, a god who…
