Friday, April 22, 2011

topped with violet fog
i who pierced the reddening sky
like a wall
bearing delicious jam
for good poets
lichens of sunlight and mucus of azure

spotted with small electric moons
a wild plank escorted by black seahorses

when julys beat down with blows of cudgels
the ultramarine skies with burning funnels;
i who trembled, hearing at fifty leagues off
the moaning of the behemoths in heat
and the thick maelstroms

i eternal spinner of the blue immobility
miss europe with its ancient parapets
i have seen sidereal archipelagos! and islands
whose delirious skies are open to the sea-wanderer
is it in these bottomless nights
that you sleep and exile yourself,
million golden birds
o future vigor

but in truth i have wept too much!
dawns are heartbreaking
every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter
acrid love has swollen me
with intoxicating torpor--o let my keel burst!
o let me go into the sea!

if i want a water of europe,
it is the black cold puddle
where in the sweet-smelling twilight
a squatting child full of sadness releases
a boat as fragile as a may butterfly

je ne puis plus baigne
de vos langueurs
o lames
enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons,
in traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes,
in nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons

            arthur @  17

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