The Temple stands like a raised fist
On the Boulevard of Crime the wind is silent;
A stage like a scaffold
Art is played in the sun, without insects nor trestles

In the crowd of the expensive souls
A humpback embraces a young girl
She stole my watch, the tease,
He shouts in English

His purse on the ground is torn apart with brightness,
On the ground a thin trace of money
The police come « get away »,
because she has the gummed blush of a thief

Me who fast since the day before
Here I am swallowing the kaolin face of the accused
My heart bends unexpectedly,
Here I am, unexpectedly camped out

In a clamorous tirade
Sent the chicaners on their way
The handcuffs are loosened around his wrists,
My few hearse-like gestures
Have restored the truth – I did not see her fly

At the Théâtre des Funambules
To play the pantomime is a dangerous trick
A sulphate machine cuts me in dots
A mandolin caresses me
A welding lamp makes me take off from the ground

But I always get up
In the hope of finding her
Neither the theater of the Ambigu nor the Funambules
Did not see it parade – no trace of my rubiacea

And the Devil has enshrined her face
Her polite smile, like a liquid thank you,
To my clandestine soul
The transparent pinkish red of lacquer,

And her first name sows
The sloganized flower on the poster of my dreams,
My eyes are darkened with fire
An excruciating pain agonizes me

The sabotage of a railroad
The applause after Othello
All conspires right in front of my life
In the glow of a rotten curtain,

I mythologize our poetry
In the hollywoye language
An aramon (Italian wine) unties my stiff veins,
Drink my talent of rockery

Like a trapped Napolitan tramp I droop ;
Paris beats between my black thumbs
The street is my paddock this evening
And I tie its laughter to the blotter