The Marquis de Sade regained the interior of the erupting volcano
Whence he had come
With his beautiful hands still in ruffles
His eyes of a young girl
And that intelligence at the rim of panic that was
His alone
But from the salon phosphorescent with visceral lamps
He did not cease to hurl mysterious commands
That breached the moral night
Through that breach I see
The great creaking shadows of the old sapped husk
Dissolve
So that I may love you
As the first man loved the first woman
In utter freedom
This freedom
For which fire itself was made man
For which the Marquis de Sade defied the centuries with his great abstract trees
With his tragic acrobats
Caught in the gossamer of desire
(André Breton, Le Marquis de Sade, tr. Keith Waldrop)
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