Chased by the Evil Spirit,
My Soul took refuge in the Ancient coliseum.
Some trumpets performed some old victorious tune
And a priest limped to me and spat on my left hand;
Silence spread virgin-like: the Crowd and the Crow were waiting for blood to be shed and shared...
All of a sudden, children ran in screaming
Followed by some slobbering and maddening Wild Beasts...
The Crowd is shouting now and my body kneels, his hand in his hands.
And Caligula dressed in his white, immaculate toga stood up
And I found myself in his shadow, the shadow of his right thumb
That was slowly pointing down...
Down to the yet wet and cursed sand of the merciless and decadent Arena.
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dimanche 20 février 2011
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