by jean cocteau from tempest of stars
your brutal force accumulates
poetry, inhuman thunderstorm.
i offer you a vehicle
if you want to flower through my hand.
i tame ancient thunder.
i would like to increase that hold
in the same way as the electric bulb
makes man obey the gods.
i stare at the old earth
which pants. it’s summer.
look at the panther’s skin,
part shadow, part sun-speckled.
only on earth does one find
the means to make a magnet
to attract the harsh waters
which burn me deeply.
