Palace

In deepest dream towards Rosemonde's palace My barefoot brain inclined for the evening Like a naked king the walls are waking Beaten flesh and fresh-cut roses You can see my thoughts immersed in roses Smiling at the concert of the toads They are in the mood for cypress bedposts The sun is a broken mirror of the rose What badly wounded bowman opened Stigmata of palms on the windowpane At the white lamb's love-feast I have tasted Resins that bitter the Cyprian wine On the jagged lap of the lascivious king In the May-time of her age and finest frock Mysterious Madame Rosemonde rolls Her little round eyes like a Hun Lady of my thoughts your pearly asshole Is unrivalled by anything Oriental For whom are you waiting Deepest dreams en route to the Orient Are my loveliest neighbors Knock knock Come into the forecourt night is coming In shadow the night-light is toasted tinsel Hang your heads by the hair on the hat-rack The evening sky is aglimmer with pins We entered the dining room our noses Caught a whiff of grease and mucus Of twenty soup bowls three were urine The king ate two poached eggs in bouillon And then the scullions brought in the meat dishes A standing roast of thoughts deceased in my brain My lovely still-born dreams in slices still bloody And gamy little meatballs of memory Dead for millennia now these thoughts Had a flavorless taste of frozen mammoth Bones or visionaries danced out of ossuaries The dance of death in the folds of my brain And all those meats pronounced revelations But Holy Christ! A famished belly has no hearing The guests continued their best mastications Ah Holy Christ! cried out the rib-eyes The huge pâtes the marrow and hot-pots Tongues of fire o where is the pentecost Of my thoughts for all places nations and times