By Antonin Artaud
Oeuvres complètes (it takes I)
The counters of zinc happen through the sewers,
rain returns to ascend until the moon;
in the avenue a window
it reveals a naked woman to us.
In odres of swollen sheets
in that the whole night breathes
the poet feels that his hair
they grow and they are multiplied.
The obtuse face of the ceilings
it contemplates the extended bodies.
Between the ground and the pavements
the life is one pitanza deep.
Poet, which worries to you
nothing has to do with the moon;
rain is fresh,
the belly is well.
Sight as the glasses fill
in the Earth counters
the life is empty,
the head is far.
Somewhere a poet thinks.
We do not have necessity of the moon,
the head is great,
the world is crowded.
In each aposento
the world shakes,
the life generates something
that it ascends towards the ceilings.
A card pack floats in the air
around the glasses;
wine smoke, smoke of glasses
and of the pipes of afternoon.
In the oblique angle of the ceilings
of all the aposentos that shake
the marine smoke is accumulated
of the dreams badly constructed.
Because here the Life is questioned
and the belly of the thought;
the bottles hit the skulls
of the áerea assembly.
The Verb appears of the dream
like a flower or a glass
plenty of forms and smoke.
The glass and the belly hit:
the life is clear
in the vitrified skulls.
Areópago ardent of the poets
it is congregated around the green rug,
the empty tour.
The life happens through the thought
of the melenudo poet.
In the street only one window,
the beaten letters sound.
In the window the sexuada woman
she puts under his belly discussion
