Harvest (Sur les champs, original English version pre-translation by Muskrat)

I found myself in a large and empty room

With moulding ran along the walls

And ceiling so high to touch it I had to climb

Crawling along the walls

Which I rarely did because to reach the ceiling was to be close to the stains

And she loves to crawl along the roof and down the sides, still

I'm sure of it

But the holes started to appear one by one

Little dots I shut closed with pieces of paper and cloth

Sometimes wool or cotton

Now and then a protruding spout would shoot venom or acid

Or a glassy eye would be visible in the dark

Exotic creatures hid atop the fan

And the stains grew and spread

Still, you ignore the ceiling

Even when I write it on the walls

Or take a knife to the bed

Smashing the screens and busting through plaster

Only to be greeted with the damage of humming vibration

Barely audible

So I am left to my prayers

As I calmly and silently take the transducer to the outlet

And the battery to my skin

And set the world ablaze

Before going outside and tuning the frequency

So that the sound stops up life and shatters glass

No bottle can hold the djinn that surrounds me with their arms

And hands that stop my wounds from bleeding freely

All of my hands caressing your face and body

As we change our shape

And the blinds are drawn and pushed aside by forces we can hear but only see when they are pointing the guns at you and I

The light changes

And the cameras are on

In this sacred and unholy place

Bless us, we saints who clean

We who wrought her work into dust

She who sleeps below

The child who cries

We see not her face

Her beauty strikes terror

But my questions soothe her and I find her relenting

We retreat to a tender kinship somewhere between a dreaming and waking state

And I leave

Disappearing into the mist just as my ancestors did

Leaving home and harvest behind

Like the breeze on your face

Gentle

La petite mort