I was delayed that afternoon because I had brushed the teeth of a pretty animal that I’m patiently taming. It’s a chameleon. This endearing animal smoked, as usual, some cigarettes, then I left.
I met her on the stairs. “I’m mauving,” she told me, while I myself crystal at full sky I at her look that river towards me.
Then it locks and, maîtresse! You pitcher pin so that at nice vase I sit down if the paths tomb.
The staircase, always the staircase that library, and the crowds down there more abyss than the sun only clocks.
Lets get back up! But in vain, memories become sardine! hardly, hardly a button doodledoos. Fall, fall down! And here the verdict: “The dancer will be executed the following morning while doing a dance step with her gems sacrificed to the heat of her body: The blood of the gems, soldiers!”
And what then, the mirror yet! Mistress you black square, and if the clouds all at once forget-me-not, they mills in the ever present eternity.
Robert Desnos, translated by Johannes Beilharz, from a sampling of surrealist French poetry.