Take this bag, Beggar! You only stroked it
Senile infant of a miserly tit
In order to drain your knell piece by piece.

Draw from dear metal some sin, bizarre
And vast like us, fists full, we kiss it
Blown there so it twists itself! A rousing brass band.

Church with the incense that all those houses
On the walls when the lullaby of a blue one shed light
The tobacco without speaking murmurs the prayers

And the strong opium shatters the pharmacy!
Dresses and skins, do you want to tear up the satin
And drink in your spit the happy inertia,

To wait for morning in the princely cafes?
The ceilings enriched with nymphs and veils,
We toss a feast to the beggar outside the window.

And when you leave, old god, shivering under your sackcloths,
The dawn is a lake of golden wine
And you swear to have stars in your throat!

Because you didn’t add up the brightness of your treasure,
You can be decorated with at least a feather, in compliance
To bring a candle to the saint in whom you still believe

Don’t imagine to yourself that I speak of madness.
The land opens up, as of old, to those who die of hunger.
I hate giving more and want you to forget me.

And above all, brother, don’t go to buy bread.

04/30/2008