L'Impossible from L'Impossible by L'ACEPHALE

L'Impossible - (the Hatred of Poetry)

Le Mort, moi même et la maison suspendue en dehors du monde, dans une partievide de l'espace où l'odeur diaphane de la mort enivre les sens. les déchire et les tend jusqu'à l'angoisse.

[Death, myself and the house suspended outside the world, in an empty part of space where the diaphanous smell of death intoxicates the senses, tears them and stretches them to the point of anguish.]

Discord
Ten hundred houses fall
A hundred then a thousand dead
At the window of the clouds

Belly open, Head removed
Reflection of long storm clouds
Image of immense sky
Higher

Higher
Than the dark top of the sky
Higher
In a mad opening, A trail of light
Is the halo of death
I'm hungry for blood
Hungry for bloody earth
Hungry for filth, hungry for rage
Hungry for filth, hungry for cold

Blank death, moist grave
One-armed sun
The death-toothed gravedigger
Effaces me

The raven-winged angel cries
Glory to thee
I am the emptiness of caskets
And the absence of myself
In the whole universe
The horns of joy, Trumpet madly
And the sun's bull's eye
Explodes

Death's thunder, Fills the universe
Too much joy turns back the fingernails

And I imagine
In the infinite depth
The deserted expanse
Different from the sky that I see
No longer containing
Those glittering points of light
But sheets of flame
Greater than a sky
Dazzling like the daybreak

My desire to vomit desire
No hope, Death
The candle blown out.

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