portrait by André Breton
Hour farther witch art in Heaven
Hallowed bee, thine aim.Thy king done come!
Thy will be done in
ersatz is in Heaven.
Kippers this day-hour,
Delhi bread.
And four kippers, sour trace, pa says.
As we four give them that trace paths against us.
Leader's not in to tempt Asians;
Butter liver (as from Eve)
fill our men.
****
Will the schist brighten the white night of Cork?
We'll be lost in midnight's corridor with calm horror of
the dying sob
Come all you ever-famous lizards climbing plants
digital flesheaters
Come vines
Whistle of revolts
Come giraffes
I invite you to a feast
So grand the light of the glasses will equal the aurora borealis
Womens' nails will be strangled swans
Not far from here a grass is drying by the roadside.
****
I am marked by my loves and for life
Like a wild horse escaped from the gauchos
Who, finding once more the prairies' freedom
Shows the mares his hair burned by branding
While on the deep sea with great virile gestures
The mermaid, singing toward a carbon sky
Amid reefs murderous to vessels,
In the heart of whirlwinds, makes the anemone flower.
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