A Pound of Flesh, by Paul Éluard (1948)

I am a man in the emptiness
Deaf Blind Mute
On an immense pedestal of black silence

Nothing This oblivion without end
This perfection, a repeated zero…
Solitude, finalised

The day is clean of work, and the night is pure

Sometimes, I wear your sandals,
and I step towards you

Sometimes I put on your dress
and then: I have your breasts, your stomach

So, okay, I see myself under your mask
And I know myself

*

Continue reading