GUILLAUME APOLLINAIREYou are alone the morning is almost here
The milkmen rattle their cans in the street
The night departs like a beautiful half-caste
False Ferdine or waiting Leah
And you drink this burning liquor like your life
Your life which you drink like an eau-de-vie
You walk toward Auteuil you want to walk home on foot
To sleep among your fetishes from Oceania and Guinea
They are all Christ in another form and of another faith
They are inferior Christs obscure hopes
Adieu adieu
The sun a severed neck
—roger shattuck
The Farewell
I picked this fragile sprig of heather
Autumn has died long since remember
Never again shall we see one another
Odor of time sprig of heather
Remember I await our life together
—roger shattuck
Windows
The yellow fades from red to green
When aras sing in their native forest
Pihis giblets
There is a poem to be done on the bird with only one wing
We will send it by telephone
Giant traumatism
It makes one’s eyes run
There is one pretty one among all the young girls from Turin
The unfortunate young man blows his nose in his white necktie
You will lift the curtain
And now look at the window opening
Spiders when hands were weaving light
Beauty paleness unfathomable violet tints