A Thousand Dreams Within Me

But The Problem Is To Make The Soul Into A Monster

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn

I Am Alone In Possessing A Key To This Barbarous Sideshow.

Once, If I Remember Well, My Life Was A Feast Where All Hearts Opened And All Wines Flowed.

The Poet Makes Himself A Voyant Through A Long, Immense Reasoned Deranging Of All His Senses. All The Forms Of Love, Of Suffering, Of Madness; He Tries To Find Himself, He Exhausts In Himself All The Poisons, To Keep Only Their Quintessences.