The doors of hell
The Hades.


CHOICE OF PORTS


Stopovers in the hell of the Hadès:

the monsters have gained my garden

Ants make love in my heart

The bridge of the mirages......................................... The disfigured masks

The walls, the walls

I am in your wounds................................................................The doors of hell



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the monsters have gained my garden



the monsters have reached my garden monsters of lips of artificial breasts monsters full my garden I ran through the vermilion city vermeils rhododendrons lovineless rises rises to the vermilion panache nights of calcined moons nights of pale childbirth nights horizons understandings nights of thirsty moons monsters have reached my garden monsters of beauties of artificial women monsters full my garden





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Ants make love in my heart


ants make love in my heart it is the end of the world and my hairs are filled with my moths they go around the world the rats lies in the shadow of my navel the night draws aside my eyes under the wing of the bats of images dogs and rats devour my heart one plays Rugby with my skull and the world goes around my skull my nails tears the buttocks which I carry and my lips join their bloodied wounds and I lie there close the prostituted dreams in this terrestrial jungle and the lion howls to my name the chimpanzees make a stumbler of my prick but it is the end of the world..





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The bridge of the mirages

I cross over again the bridgeof mirages of attracting waters I catch up with the parapet of the "let-fall-straight-down" tastes to the moon of the solitary drownings of ages the disease of caresses of the sinking images. I trespass the postof the lanterns gallows I spin the string of files of emancipaded young girls the masquerade of my mask to the reflections of ices my body over the hand of an abyss which it leaves in suspension. One throws the stoneof my heart to the scrap I collect my stone in the carrions humanities one made a crippled puppet of myself I ressuscite from my flesh the prohibited indecencies. I kissed a lipwhich have given me bad the lip one waits too long a time for nothing I profane this life of lips for a little bit of shadows the black lake which closes itself over an evil. Good-bye, gods and goddesses, negresses sadness, goodday, with both of us we are alone night, come back with your bridges which cracks your water which closes over the full stop. I do believe in nothing in you, in her, nothing we would have trespass the road without seing each other walls separating our caricatures and I would be a soulless lifeless without images





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The disfigured masks

The disfigured masks over the faces signed to the destinies The faces losts in the mornings like sated pasts the passionate waltz in parades of seasons and infernal distorsions Landscapes to the colics lamentables and tragics in the heavy twilight of evenings without ends And the nights of eternities the eternal damnations the retreat of masquerades towards the necropoles of yesterdays In procession of shadows over the mask of fog Oh, the sadness of winds of these timid breaths towards the wandering couches It tells me to be sad This sleep over the face contracted by time the influence of remorse It is a mask without life.


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The walls, the walls

The walls, the walls the walls on your insuperable faces walls of steel, walls of lead after you, there is no more smiles after you, I do not see anything these dark walls! call the walls, the days of walls the walls of days in your faces call the smiles the smiles absent to the walls of faces, the walls, the walls the walls of transferred fingers the walls of shadows, the walls of breathw, after you, there is no more whisperings, after you, I do not feel anything these walls of shadows! call the walls, the nights funerals the funeral of nights on your fingers call the whisperings the whisperings absent to the walls of fingers the walls, the walls the walls of dull faces the walls extinguished, the livid walls after you, there is no more lights after you, I do not distinguish anything these faded walls! call the walls, the eternity corpses the corpses of eternities on your faces call the lights the lights absent to the walls of faces ...........





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I am in your wounds


I am in your wounds leaving from your wounds in tired pig I feel the old age of the carrions my carrions days to the dribbles of time I am still in your wounds a whole world of hanging leprosies your eyes of busted tits to the tears of sadnesses your eyes of apogees cancers to the dead animal body of my dreams your eyes of carnages dungeons I feel the muds departures to the diagonals bloods of the deserts I hear the short-sighted musics to the decapitated frights of the orchestras the diseases of cemeteries horizons the diseases of incarnated rendez-vous the diseases of incantationed existencies the diseases of coack-roached worlds a corpse of world to the blooded fingers I enter while crawling my miseries arrows a smile of dog palm to the diantre I move the animal by cheerfulness puff out I puff out my cores of entrails to the disastrous rates of my jitters I tell good-bye to the dayly invasions the Jesus anathemas of my crucifixions the Jesus crucified of my fingers of toes the Jesuits crucifixions of my pumps I have the idiotic genuflexion of the ponces the anarchy monster of the beasts I have the nausea defector of the revolted I have the cursed head of the calamities I have the plague at the end of my reflexions a return basin in the viscous mornings



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The doors of hell

open your doors of hells to the arrivals of broken soldiers the mothers decapitated to the doors the children with torn off skulls of the cradles it is the revolt of the kings nuts suns fixed to the fingers the fingers of palm to the rifle suns torn off from the eyes the eyes suspended to the corpses it is the open mouth of the battle fields blood, blood, blood, corpses of blood blood of corpses open your veins hells open your skulls witnesses gods how small they are the human ones and thirsty and miserable rifles thirsty of human the human thirsty of rifles blood, blood, blood, harvests of coarpses clouds of shells walls of flesh atrocious flesh atrocious feasts of calamities. blood iron fire steel blood blood of iron of steel of fire of blood clouds of iron of steel of fire of blood.






Marco Polo ou le voyage imaginaire (poésie 1955: les portes de l'enfer) © 2006 Jean-Pierre Lapointe


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