From Dreams and Projects
The doll's mouth is filled up with wads of paper covered over with
threats, insults, desperate pleas of love in a nervous hand.
From high up, very high up, glistening creatures devoid of memory
drop from an alien, faraway crown. They are shaped like large cordiform
leaves. If one of these creatures dies, he stops shimmering. From high
up, very high up, they drop into the brushwood of our ten fingers and our
ten big toes.
His hat is a tardy, somnolent star. His eyes are white flower beds
of fog. His beard is dismayed water. His hands and his feet are gloves
and shoes filled with sand. Worn out, he files past dead leaves, plaster
casts of shadows, stopped clocks, moulting vases, indefinite objects on
clouds that are swept together.
Amphorae with mustaches and pilgrim's staffs emerge from the abyss.
Shadows gnash their black-diamond teeth.