Those delirious ideas of mine that always adores me
Cannot come from outside
My head is an expanse of spite
From which the tributaries of my torrents have
Disappeared
Images so coveted when they come to me
I would like my mirage to take me
Far away, where everything is extinguished
Far from the endless days
A place where time itself is altered
And who, where checks and neutralizes itself
And dries my thoughts into a desert of obsession
It tarnishes the colours of successive centuries
Incapable of reactiving his hours
He obeys my reigning ideal
Arid derision of reason is conceived
Rationality wrings itself of its liquid
We will mop up that fluid logic
My dreaming was pratically swallowed up
But escaped from what destiny foretells
When you washed up on my shores
Poetry set in on this coast
It is the most sordid, the cruellest
That which makes the shores pile up
Illusion drinks of what it will lose
In this dried-up lake, this dream will drown
