“A thousand Dreams within me softly burn:From time to time my heart is like some oakWhose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.”

“Evening prayerI spend my life sitting, like an angel in a barber's chair,Holding a beer mug with deep-cut designs,My neck and gut both bent, while in the airA weightless veil of pipe smoke hangs.Like steaming dung within an old dovecoteA thousand Dreams within me softly burn:From time to time my heart is like some oakWhose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.And then, when I have swallowed down my DreamsIn thirty, forty mugs of beer, I turnTo satisfy a need I can't ignore,And like the Lord of Hyssop and of MyrrhI piss into the skies, a soaring streamThat consecrates a patch of flowering fern.”

“A thousand Dreams within me softly burn”

“And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam,A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.”

“Then you'll feel your cheek scratched...A little kiss, like a crazy spider,Will run round your neck... And you'll say to me : "Find it !" bending your head- And we'll take a long time to find that creature- Which travels a lot...”

“Blood was flowing – in Bluebeard’s house, in the abattoirs, in the circuses where God had set his seal to whiten the windows. Blood and Milk flowed together.”

“Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?”