“
we are not thinkers
we are made of mirrors and air
and yet unsatisfied obscure morose impervious
the saw teeth that decorate our forehead border on death
and catch the eye from one thing to the next through the whole dictionary
rubbing the teeth of the sky beating the linen at the river
vomited from the white crests the fog solidifies among us
and soon we will be taken into the dense and muddy matter
soon will be absorbed by the spongy lethargy of iron
that by the length of a sad litany reaches beyond the coffin and the lie
we are made of mirrors and air
and yet unsatisfied obscure morose impervious
the saw teeth that decorate our forehead border on death
and catch the eye from one thing to the next through the whole dictionary
rubbing the teeth of the sky beating the linen at the river
vomited from the white crests the fog solidifies among us
and soon we will be taken into the dense and muddy matter
soon will be absorbed by the spongy lethargy of iron
that by the length of a sad litany reaches beyond the coffin and the lie
— Tristan Tzara, The Approximate Man, Part VI (1931). (via emanationsoftheyellowsign)
Reblogged from Emanations of the Yellow Sign
