25 
ANONYMOUS LETTER 
cerebral flower faints on the list of the categories of the skies 
he is a star a convinced mandarin on a calling card 
deserts the physical twofold brilliance which cuts the hour 
with its scissors 
the spiral ether in the revolving door of respectful salutations 
swells the stairways which mister goat is mounting painfully 
mustard plasters are also animals with heads and diverse 
spectacles of foggy vitality adopted to every circumstance 
a cloudy beard surrounds the aureole of nickelplated jesus 
who shines in our collective heart a seed in the sliced half 
of an apple 
jesus a confidential agent 
I beg you please to burst the door of x as if 
TRISTAN TZARA 
NOCES 
a Igor Strawtnsky 
W HEN THE sun with gold and priceless gold, had 
encumbered enough the shops of ardency and 
swollen the breasts of the earth, these began to 
throw to the sky their food of fire and unfathom 
able depth. 
God’s hand feels the pulse of the earth. Even the fearless 
the blood whips the music, while ascends from the parents 
of the betrothed, the dignified lament. Suckled with vigor, 
with the ticking of time and of the passing train, it’s here 
that life is cut as the worm and that the child falls in the 
column which follows the eternal moaning of the flesh. With 
in each pore of the skin, there is a garden containing all the 
beasts of the jungle of anguish.—One must be able to look 
with an eye as big as a city upon the glass through which one 
dances, takes one’s love out boating, sports about and gam 
bols. From each note it mounts, from the lines of the palm 
into trees, it descends from animals to roots, for each note 
is big and sees. 
Sowing songs over earth’s epidermis 
under the tree overloaded with musical symbols 
crawling over the calcareous knoll among lizards and tomb 
stones, resinous and chalky sheds, cemetery exuding turpen 
tine devoured by the eager claws set in semi-circle open like 
a grin.