It dies with me, the secret I have not fathomed. Existence? Call it ceasing to exist. These moments of eternity float the All or Nothing.
I found strange succour among the dead,
Scouting round Père-Lachaise, guidebook in hand,
And an old woman lingering like a spirit asked: “Qui vous cherchez?”
“Apollinaire,” I said, and she pointed out a gravestone, smiling.
What is all this fanfarlo,
The overheard conversations of my heart,
The whispers and sighs?
Damned fate,
Will you let me get a word in?
Dear Lord of the Universe:
Is it true you unscrew your private parts and pop them in a jar of Sterident overnight?
No more 4 a.m. panics,
No more sordid excuses and betrayals,
No more futile neuroses,
No more cowardly dodges,
No more ludicrous bravado,
No more no more…
I only love the unseen, the untouched,
I who am neither seen nor touched,
I only love the love that is unseen and untouched,
I who am neither unseen nor untouched.
I proceed with my usual stupidities,
Exceed the proper limits,
Supersede myself again.
Et voilà!
It’s me again,
Saying I want this, I want that,
Things I don’t really want at all,
Things I have no use for,
And yet the charm of possession possesses me,
The image lingers in the mind…
For if one does not exist in others’ minds,
Does one even exist at all?
So excuse my bad jokes,
My idle follies,
Somehow I need them,
And they need me.
Listen to the whale songs of the heart,
Echoing across immensities,
Deep below the waves of my face…
One day I will learn to say No with joy,
And shake my corpse’s hand, laughing.
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