Nearly done

 

When I’m in the street or singing hymns

A very large

Bonbon

In a white wrapper

As I play a wrenched kiss

The taste of Paris consoles me

Looking into the tulle an arabesque

Holloweyed traces around me the divan of toasts

The light dewy upon my flattened hair

Useless questions

In a family of cradled sweetmeats

I look for my size.

 

Francis Picabia