Cigarettes
Yes, this world is flat, on the other nonsense.
Me, I resigned, hopeless, in my fate,
And to kill time, waiting for death,
I smoke in the faces of gods fine cigarettes.
Go, live, fight, poor skeletons future.
I, the meandering blue to the sky twists
Me plunges into an infinite ecstasy and puts me to sleep
As the dying perfume of a thousand censers.
And I go to heaven, flowery dreams clear
Or seen mingling in waltzes fantastic
elephants in rut to choirs of mosquitoes.
And then when I wake up thinking of my verses, I contemplate
, heart full of sweet joy, my dear
thumb like a roast leg of goose.
Jules Laforgue
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