Less Time
LESS TIME
Less time than it takes to say it,less tears than it takes to die;
I've taken account of everything,
there you have it.
I've made a census of the stones,
they are as numerous as my
fingers and some others;
I've distributed some pamphlets to the plants,
but not all were willing to accept them.
I've kept company with music for a second
only and now I no longer know what to
think of suicide,
for if I ever want to part from myself,
the exit is on this side and,
I add mischievously, the entrance,
the re-entrance is on the other.
You see what you still have to do.
Hours, grief, I don't keep a reasonable
account of them; I'm alone,
I lookout of the window;
there is no passerby,
or rather no one passes .
You don't know this man?
It's Mr. Same.
May I introduce Madam Madam?
And their children.
Then I turn back on my steps,
my steps turn back too,
but I don't know exactly
what they turn back on.
I consult a schedule;
the names of the towns have
been replaced by the names
of people who have been
quite close to me.
Shall I go to A, return to B,
change at X? Yes, of course
I'll change at X.
Provided I don't miss the
connection with boredom!
There we are: boredom,
beautiful parallels, ah!
how beautiful the parallels
are under God's perpendicular.
Andre Breton (1896-1966)