the great complaint of my obscurity three

with us the clock flowers light up and the pinions ring brightness

mornings of faroff sulfur cows lick lilies of salt

my son

let’s drag along forever through the color of the world

you’d say was bluer than the metro and astronomy

we are too skinny

we have no mouth

our legs are stiff and knockkneed

our faces have no shape like stars

crystal points feeble burnt fire the basilica

senseless: the zigzags crackle

telephone

bite the ropes wilt the arch

clamber

astral

up memory

to the north by its double fruit like cooked meats

famine fire blood

Tristan Tzara