The Wolf House IV
It is the center of identity, where the chemist and his shadow exchange reflections in the espionage of invented mythology, where love and delirium hurl their fatal stones, and spin their long-haired cylinders in the dark gowns of an avalanche—where you, when you are close, when you are slender as a thought and more than a shade, are animated by the griffdon of erratic aerials long since outlawed in the provinces and in the warhouses of hysteria—where there is nowhere to go except where the Royal Solution sets up its outrageous barricades and its reckless scaffolding according to the smoke and water that is the blood of your face. Your face, betrayed by scorpions.
J. K. Bogartte, extrait de The Wolf House, La Belle Inutile Éditions, 2009. Portrait du poète par Istvan Horkay.