Those who love

are always anachronistic. They speak in a lost language. They love against the Market.
They are Jurassic. Absurd.
In love.
They are not tempted by anything that is not eternal.
They love against all impossibilities,
they laugh and urinate on death.
They are not understood in leather shops
or in dentists' offices,
or in fishmongers. They are not followed.
They are capable of constructing with their mouths
birds, arquebuses, diphthongs, slides.
They are lazy in fact and law:
they have no time except to undress.
They create verbs in forbidden territories.
They smoke flowers and clouds and Mondays are
always Saturdays. Those who love
are a danger to the State.