With Love from Euphor
On the tiled floor, I saw strange forms appearing The head of Spartacus
or that, more exciting, more modern also, of Actarus.
Princes
whether they come from Thrace or Euphor
always haunted my frozen mornings,
my capsized nights.
Later
– much later –
it is by their laughter that I was started the most.
The princes always had an open throat
and amazed eyes
in bed.
I saw their wings growing
at the same rate as their sexes
which were spread out around me
everywhere
in me
on me
in my eyes and the clouds.
I flew away too
far from this nest
to join
in dream
in the bathroom
unreal colorings,
small encrusted gravels,
in the shape of happy princes,
in the shape of dark princes.
The Angels’ Birth 1
The tiger is thinking of you
and throwing the wind
over your shoulder
like the red scarf
hung onto the coat rack.
The winged horses
are quenching their thirst from your thoughts,
our broadcasted dragons
are roused
so fires start.
The tiger is listening to you
while you are painting the wintry feelings
and from your heart and from your guts
and from your blood and from your tears
you draw the East
and a charming nature
The tiger hid himself
in Winter’s arms His delicious song
woke love up
and the dying sun
resuscitated
on a soft, serene
and foggy
morning.
The tiger between your hands
hums
uncertainty.
