by Tristan Tzara

The inclined towers the oblique skies
The cars descending into the void of roads
The creatures along the country lanes
Branches covered with hospitable virtues
With leaf-shaped birds at their crowns
You walk but another walks in your footsteps
Distilling her spite through fragments of memory and math
Enveloped by a robe almost mute the clotted sound of capitals

The seething city dense both with proud cries and lights
Overflows the saucepan of its eyelids
Tears flow away in streams of wretched population
Over the sterile plain towards the smooth flesh the lava
Of shadowy mountains the apocalyptic temptations
Lost in the landscape of a memory and a darkened rose
I roam the narrow streets around you
While you too roam different wider streets
Round something other

1 thought on “Volt

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