Sans titre

“Eyes in the forest as in an empty city

I lie on the sand like on crushed glass

I sink into the highway like into a waterless sea

Your veins swell inside the metal

A brick falls from the void into your belly

You sleep in a square field like the street

Feet trapped in the uranium coming out of the ground

I walk on bridges that never crumble

I don’t see the sky that eats its children

Staring at the red forest fire

I water the plants because they are real

I look at artificial flowers as if they were real

White foam on your face

You dive into the river like into a bathroom without electricity

You touch the rubber inside of you

Hands that light up cigarettes like hay

You observe the windows with people in them

You run your finger over the dough that comes out of the ATM

There is plastic that swells inside the fish

People on the train watching the fields from afar

A red stone around your neck like the marks of a hand

The seven colors of gasoline in rainwater

You haven’t come out of the ground yet.”