Threshold (the wound of Paris)

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You are wasting your time, thinking
thinking
you're out of this life, thinking and losing in the slow haze, which is tired of giving birth: harpies and gargoyles...
Deep down into the wound of Paris.

Today, that I see more shadows than anything else, I wonder: how is your soul? Apple of nothing: what the shades will say about your return?

Will your heart defeat the ruins in the wound of Paris?

...The sun will open himself in the light, eventually
he'll walk away, and never will know you loved him.

And as the dogs roam searching for water, angel of the poor ones: ¿quelque chose va avoir un songe dans cette insomnie?

Your being, involuntarily, will open itself to the light
it will walk away without knowing you loved it.

Already you abandoned your days, searching for the mulberries, talking about the children who write in the diluvium in Heaven.

Apocalypse of water and the thirsty city dromedaries...they are wondering, wondering: will all that gold end in your purse?


Lost in the world, your being will hurt itself, at last
like a navel of stone at the ocean tides


please, no, don't search yourself at the threshold
to know the shape of your soul.

And what's next in the song?


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