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City with its dreams
gathered on its top floors
city with its women
veiled like golden eggs,
no bridge of iron
no coal, no smoke,
jewels of calm
no basement on fire
where one can dig tunnels
in the café,
the city is there:
a colossal haunting.
I am its visitor,
greedy and shady
I know that the gazes
are gates that open,
I know that the scales
are also made
to weigh contagion,
I was able to observe her
sitting on a box
on black wheat shadow.
Here I am no longer afraid of rats
I know they stayed behind
in the West.
I don't feel unwanted
around these poor tables
where one eats rice with one's fingers.
The one who has nothing
sculpts my skull
he has lit candles
on my head
and has changed the color of my brain!
I no longer complain
that I am suffering,
I am the madman
of the city's congested alleys
the one for whom summer repeats
that one must never conclude.
Here death rests
in the gardens,
and the infinite is not for unhappiness.
Paths of goss
climb up along the house,
the chimeras freak
in the burning air.
I work on the new dead
I circle the street stalls
I believe in the Old World
at the end of the Old World
with its Edens
its generosity
its fateful faraway