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The seasons' traveling
theaters where my life will have run
To my booing
The loge had been fitted out as a dungeon whence I could boo
Hands on the bars I saw against a backdrop of dark greenery
The heroine naked to the waist
Who did herself in at the start of the first act
The play went on inexplicably in the chandelier
The scene filling little by little with fog
And I shouted at times
I broke the pitcher given me out of which butterflies escaped
That rose madly to the chandelier
Under the pretext of another ballet interlude put to my thinking insistently
I tried to open my wrists with bits of brown earth
But these were lands I was lost in
Impossible to pick up the thread of those voyages
I was cut off from all by the bread of the sun
A character moved about the house one agile character
Who had made himself a mask of my features
Odiously he took the side of the ingénue and the traitor
The rumor ran it was set up like May June July August
Suddenly the cavern got still deeper
In the interminable wings bouquets held hand-high
Roamed by themselves that is hardly if I dared crack my door
Too much freedom was given me at once
Freedom to flee on the sleigh of my bed
Freedom to revive beings that I missed
Aluminum chairs drew round an ice cream stand
On which went up a curtain of dew fringed with blood turned fresh
Freedom to hunt down before me real appearances
The basement was marvelous on a white wall appeared in dotted lines of fire
my silhouette pierced in the heart with a bullet
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