"When you sleep horses break from the night
upon your flat breast, and the gallop of beasts
disperses the darkness where sleep conducts
its powerful machine, torn from my head
without the slightest noise.
Sleep makes so many limbs
flower from your feet
that I am afraid to die strangled by their cries.
On the curve of your delicate hip, before it fades
I decipher a pure face written
in blue on your white skin.
But should a turnkey awaken you, my tender thief
when you wash your hands (those birds which flit
about your grove, laden with a hundred griefs)
then ruthlessly you shatter the shaft of stars
upon your crying face.
In your funereal remains
glorious gestures are retained
your hand which flung it, seeding it with rays.
Your undershirt, your shirt, and your black belt
astonish my cell and leave me dumbstruck
before your beautiful ivory."
upon your flat breast, and the gallop of beasts
disperses the darkness where sleep conducts
its powerful machine, torn from my head
without the slightest noise.
Sleep makes so many limbs
flower from your feet
that I am afraid to die strangled by their cries.
On the curve of your delicate hip, before it fades
I decipher a pure face written
in blue on your white skin.
But should a turnkey awaken you, my tender thief
when you wash your hands (those birds which flit
about your grove, laden with a hundred griefs)
then ruthlessly you shatter the shaft of stars
upon your crying face.
In your funereal remains
glorious gestures are retained
your hand which flung it, seeding it with rays.
Your undershirt, your shirt, and your black belt
astonish my cell and leave me dumbstruck
before your beautiful ivory."
from Funeral March by Jean Genet
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