The white attic rests
among dripping trees

This pen, like your penis,
stirs in my hand:
those two or three kids

The congregation dances perfect golden reels
redolent of sex amid the Sunday chimes;
how sweet, how… symmetrical it all is—everything else.

At the end of a long journey, I can still see that corridor, that moleskin, that warm shadow crossed by breezes pure as small children sent by the sea foam

Be fearful
                if you wish to awaken in yourself the instinct of
                the Beautiful;

Kiss the mother 
that needs to become 
that needs to need

For two months / I have not written / a word.

But why should monkeys concern us?

Intolerable pain in my right leg
resisted all simple treatments
analgesics narcotics blocked nerves

1. Three men. Two of them seated. The third, standing with his back turned to the room’s only window, permits his beautiful eyes to stray across an infinite space. His right arm is extended, as if he were saying something, as if there were something he wanted to say.