suicide
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Diverses poetic ports:

I am the betrayed man.

Come.......

until the end...... The failed dream

Languages of dungeons................................ Fingers of crimes

The endless shores.


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I am the betrayed man



I am away from the smiles,
expatriated to the green countries
extradited.
The rice fields of villages of waves
to the clouds of my dreams,
ecstasiated.




I am far from the smiles,
I am the betrayed human
the choped up robin
exhausted.
to the pagan moonlight.

The (topaz) to the unfaithful finger
and the sheek that refuse a kiss,
are the brocken strings
to the cloud of suicide storm

suicided.




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Come


Come midnights nightmares
Come eternal sleeps
Come nights of dizzy spells
Come assassins shadows
Come apologic ideas
Come erratic alcohols
Come erotic muses
Come parodist humans
Come representation icons
Come breasts satin of mouth
Come thirsty of dreams
Come food of work
Come mothers prayers kneeling
Come apostrophy wars
Come suicide travels

the bloodsucker door to the dream of blood over
the river string to the rapid suicide
the prison death the escape to death
the velvet knive costly journeys
the fragile god easy asylum of the iddles
the arrogant feel down of the seedy fun-lovers
the genuflexion scratch the flexible knees
the foot dayly over the morning batch
the sabbath battle down in your breasts
the breackfast suicide cider of youth
the cafard of a few farfadets deceased
the jelly sun the eye frozen to hell
the cops of God cup-out our games
the death devore our deaths after the knell
the journey craunch the day the deluge my turn




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Until the end

I will see no more, the source
that flows
I decided to die
to men
I decided

It rains outside
The light close its eyes
slowly

just enough to let me pass
unknowned



I cross over a sound
in the silence

I pass through two allies of pictures
already unknowned

There is no more those blond hairs
of dreams

I am death already and I still walk
until where?

Until the end



Until the end
of sidewalks

Until the end
of blond hairs

Until the end
of my dreams

until the end
of everything




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The lost dream



See, I have eyes for nobody
Behind, there is nothing for you
I have eyes that look anywhere
but anything, for nothing
I have eyes of deceived images,
eyes of faces sadden and brocken
eyes of alightened forests, without skies
and eyes that closed down desordered.

Nature has played into our lives
its eternal rebirth
its childish games of brocken hoops
Nature has played in our vains of absurdity
and I start over my dream without end
to the mornings of similar suns
In spite of your smiles of yesterdays and your fingers
I carry back my stick of sadness with me.



This morning, I conceade to the temptation of leaving
I broke up with the string of reality
to throw myself mouth opened in the emptyness
I travelled over the nothingless, such a dream
to find myself to the night of bells of realities.


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Langages of Dungeons

I lay myself over the grass
which spread its mouth over my pedestal
and I listen to jazz in my heart
I wish I could sleep
I try to push the door of the garden
the lylas are on the plate
the treator behing me
I think he will catch me



and I will lay down over my flesh
the gardens
the flowers
the days
all an end
a sleep to lost my breath
the end of the bal
to cry over
and to bite the Euphrate



orgy of color in the planet brain
crater flowered that grow to the sky like sea-arches
I lay down the dried virgins
I lay down the verbal sea
the sea to the hold of my trunks of osier
the sun will turn will turn will turn
the prophety is on the circle
and my sun will stay in the circle
prophety of dungeons




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Fingers of crimes




I hang myself to the passage of roads
the tooth hanged at the frosted sun
I hang myself to the sidewalk of plates
hand of steel to the velvet siestas

rope suspended to my roof scull
rope violin hail to the heart bazar

I have my belly full of tentacular ants
I have my misery rectum to the sun

finger of foot over your shoulder plates
finger of crime over your breasts
finger knife to the heart of your nights

finger, finger, finger carnage



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The endless shores.

you will walk beside me
endless shores
I will take you by the hand of dream
to the endless shores
your eyes extracted from the seas
the sea shores



your little shoe that lay on the sand
your feet in the bruised sands
the bruised dreams
I will take you in my suicided eyes
close them in the wave
of the suicide shores.



Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (poetry: translated from Suicides, 1958) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe


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