The question is: where to put one's foot?
At such moments
I heard in myself something
Like a tocsin, a strange admonition:
``In this world, progress is for our descendants alone.''
In myself, I began reproducing the person I wanted to see.
Gray is all Theory
Unless perhaps in dreams
In the rhythmics of slumber
Where words by turns spurr on conversation
And symptoms of technology are not accepted
Everything had changed by effect of a single conviction
And their contempt for us will have no end on the worlds to come
Who begins to write with me
The great dice game of existence?
Men could enter, but air could not
Men had replaced the prehistoric water
Where violence organizes itself into a scene
And shades of erotic meaning in a woman's hat are virtually incalculable
The spontaneous impulses of the individual sensiblility
Bores the ordinary man more than the cosmos
Which is the emphatic and aligned
Business knows how to make use of the threshold
With the aid of electric light
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