POEMS
For these gods are demons; they trail in space
Slender as a hair, ample as the dawn,
Nostrils foaming, spittle on their faces,
Their hands stretched forward to seize a decor
(Non-existent). But someone's sure to ask,
What is the meaning of this metaphor:
"Slender as a hair, ample as the dawn"
Why this face eluding three dimensions?
I speak of gods, since they cover the sea
With infinite weight, with immortal flight,
I speak of gods since they frequent the winds,
I speak of gods, since they're perpetual,
I speak of gods, since they live underground,
In the soil drawing their vivacious breath,
I speak of gods, since they hatch the iron,
Amass the coal, distill the cinnabar.
Are they gods or demons? They fill up time,
Slender as a hair, ample as the dawn,
Nostrils foaming, their eye-enamel cracked,
Their hands stretched forward to seize a decor
(Non-existent). But someone's sure to ask,
What is the meaning of this metaphor:
"Slender as a hair, ample as the dawn"
These two hands eluding three dimensions?
They're demons. One descends, the other mounts.
To each night its day, each peak its valley,
To each day its night, each tree its shadow,
Each being its Not, each good its evil,
These reflections, negative images,
Behave like immobility, throwing
Their active multitude into the void,
Composing a double to every truth.
But neither god nor demon, man has strayed,
Slender as a hair, ample as the dawn,
His nostrils foaming, his two eyes revulsed,
His hands stretched forward to touch a decor
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