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What does it mean to persist on rhe alley of death? How in salt’s desert is it possible to blossom? In the sea of nothing happens, are there clothes to die in? Now that the bones are gone who lives…

Does the living drop of mercury run downward or forever? Will my sorrowful poetry watch with my own eyes? Will I have my smell and my pain when, destroyed, I go on sleeping?

And what importance do I have in the courtroom of oblivion? Which is the true picture of how the future will turn out? Is it the grain seed among its yellow masses? Or is it the bony heart, that delegate…

Why was I not born mysterious? Why did I grow up without companions? Who ordered me to tear down the doors of my own pride? And who went out to live for me when I was sleeping or sick? .…

And what was beating in the night? Were they planets or horseshoes? This morning must I choose between the naked sea and the sky? And why is the sky dressed so early in its mists? What was awaiting me in…

Wouldn’t it be best to outlaw interplanetary kisses? Why not analyze these things before outfitting other planets? And why not the platypus who is dressed for space? Weren’t horseshoes made for horses on the moon?

You don’t believe that dromedaries keep moonlight in their humps? Don’t they sow it in the desert with secret persistence? And hasn’t the sea been lent for a brief time to the earth? Won’t we have to give it back…

Why don’t they send moles and turtles to the moon? Couldn’t the animals that engineer hollows and tunnels take charge of these distant inspections?

Is it true that swallows are going to settle on the moon? Will they carry spring with them tearing it from the cornices? Will the moon swallows take off in autumn? Will they search for traces of bismuth by pecking…

Who devoured before my eyes a shark covered with pustules? Who was guilty, the squall or the bloodstained fishes? Is this continual breaking the order or the battle?