9. Cracklings


The rainbowy dissonances of the Tower in its wireless telegraphy

One says shit from every corner of the universe
Chrome yellow

One is in contact

From every side ocean liners approach

Every watch is set to the hour
And the clocks chime

Paris-Midi reports that a German professor has been eaten by

     cannibals in the Congo

Well done
L’Intransigeant this evening publishes verses for postcards
It’s idiotic when every astrologer burgles the stars
One sees no more

I interrogate the sky
The Meteorological Institute reports bad weather

There’s no Futurism

There’s no Simultaneity

Bodin has burned all the witches

There’s nothing

There are no more horoscopes and one must work
I’m worried
The Spirit

I’m going to leave on a voyage
And I send this bare poem to my friend R…


September 1913.