Spirit’s getting irritated … just DO it already antagonist!

The pipe to the poet:

I am a poet's pipe, His nurse, and: I put his Beast to sleep.

When his blinded chimeras
Come to collide with his forehead, I smoke...And he, in his ceiling, Can no longer see the spiders.

….I make him a sky, clouds, The sea, the desert, mirages;

- He lets his dead eye wander there...
And, when the cloud becomes heavy, He thinks he sees a known shadow,

- And I feel my pipe biting...

- Another whirlwind unties
His soul, his shackles, his life!

….And I feel myself fading.-he is sleeping-

-Sleep again: the Beast is calmed, Follow your dream to the end...

My Poor!.. the smoke is everything.

-If it is true that everything is smoke...

The yellow loves
Tristan Corbière