It happens that I am tired of being a man.
It happens that i go into tailorshops and the movies all shrivelled up and penetrable like a felt swan navigating on a water of origin and ash.
The smell of barbershops makes me sob out loud.

I want nothing but the repose either of stones or of wool
I want to see no more establishments
no more gardens
nor merchandise, nor glasses, nor elevators.

It happens that i am tired of my feet and my nails and my hair and my shadow.
It happens that i am tired of being a man

Just the same it would be delicious to scare a notary with a cut lily
or knock a nun stone dead with one blow of an ear.
It would be beautiful to go through the streets with a green knife shouting until i died of cold.

I do not want to go on being a root in the dark hesitating, stretched out, shivering, with drains downward in the wet tripes of the earth
soaking it up,
thinking, eating everyday.

I do not want to be the inheritor of so many misfortunes.
I do not want to continue as a root and as a tomb,
as a solitary tunnel, as a cellar full of corpses, stiff with cold, dying with pain.

For this reason Monday burns like oil at the sight of me arriving with my jail face
and it howls in passing like a wounded wheel
and its footsteps towards nightfall are filled with hot blood.

And it shoves me along to certain corners,
to certain damp houses,
to hospitals where the bones come out of the window,
to certain cobbler shops smelling of vinegar
to streets as horrendous as crevices in the skin.

There are birds the color of sulphur, and horrible intestines hanging from the doors of the houses which i hate,
there are forgotten sets of teeth in a coffee pot,
there are mirrors which should've wept with shame and horror,
there are umbrellas all over the place and poisons and navels.

I stride along with calm with eyes with shoes with fury with forgetfulness.
I pass,
I cross offices and stores filled with orthopedic appliances and courtyards hung with clothes on wires: underpants, towels and shirts
which weep slow dirty tears.