epilepsyblues:

By the threads of death
the weapons of these nights 
carried my arms paralyzed by wine 
the azure of nostrils 
traversed by the rose gone astray 
where a gilded doe shudders under the brush…
I astonish myself and lose myself 
in pursuing your course 
astonishing river 
from the veins of discourse

—Jean Genet       

(Source: milgoeshunting, via gorimbaud)