Of a damned poet, there is a scar, brand, stigma.
This is not even an enigma.
I was marked by a bad spirit,
That others usually call “God”.
And now I am an outcast,
I am excommunicated everywhere
(like the Abominable Snowman).
If only you would meet me once,
you would see
the seal of Cain
on my body.
I destroy the fertility of the earth, no?
From the blue sea to the high mountains,
Plagues follow me,
And cities are devastated in degradation.
And nobody…
No more beautiful moments,
Wherever I search, there is no salvation for me.
I walked the promised land —
And I was everywhere persona non grata.
An outcast, a wanderer, lame, exhausted,
Desperately in love with my curse. Of course,
I am neither rapist nor murderer:
I am not a monster, but there is no place for me
Among people; I have been a damned poet from birth.
«I am doomed in the world…»
I am doomed in the world
Of living people.
For most,
I am a derelict madman.
For others, a stone visitor
From Easter Island.
For others still, a flabby old man
who believes in fairy tales.
A loser, like a driver with
punctured tires
(and no spare).
I am the spleen of the sun
What the wind drives.
A grandfather without any gray hair,
Always in the crowd,
But lonely.
A wingless starling,
The inconsolable widower.
Gothic Palace,
A Dead Man Alive.
Tonic and gin,
Morrison (Jim).
I am the irritant of your
Inflamed retina.
An Invisible Man with a life
Playing hide-and-seek.
The final chord,
Blazing Fort,
Euthanasia abortion,
Elite escort (nice option).
A look of reproach.
Through the veil of curtains.
I am the yellow traffic light.
An unresolved dispute.
The Legless Dancer,
The one that created the furore.
Blown away at point-blank range,
The trigger is pulled. Fire!
I am mortar and concrete, 
