Those delirious ideas of mine that always adores me Cannot come from outside My head is an expanse of spite From which the tributaries of my torrents have Disappeared Images so coveted when they come to me I would like my mirage to take me Far away, where everything is extinguished Far from the endless days A place where time itself is altered And who, where checks and neutralizes itself And dries my thoughts into a desert of obsession It tarnishes the colours of successive centuries
Incapable of reactiving his hours He obeys my reigning ideal Arid derision of reason is conceived Rationality wrings itself of its liquid We will mop up that fluid logic My dreaming was pratically swallowed up But escaped from what destiny foretells When you washed up on my shores Poetry set in on this coast It is the most sordid, the cruellest That which makes the shores pile up Illusion drinks of what it will lose In this dried-up lake, this dream will drown