Doesn't poetry seem to be a labyrinth and also a riddle, where the word is likely to be used as a handicap to set thought moving up towards the plane of ideas?

For TCHEN-Gi-Vane, poetry is a landscape of daydreams where one penetrates according to one's sensibility and knowledge. Originally a poem was a song. Confucius was not the only one to sing poetry while playing the zither.

The singing voice is a wheelchair for speech, this cripple, locked up into different territories through language.

Let us go. TOI ET MOI

Where are we, NOUS ?
NOYADE ET Shadow.
Let us go, TOI ET MOI
CONTRE LE MUR ET LA LOI.
                 MURMURES,
CES MURAGES DE L'AGE MUR.
Will they follow, LA RAGE EN TOUS LIEUX ?
CETTE image... CETTE IMAGE
            CETTE image... CETTE IMAGE of a certain age,
Asphyxiating image DE TES OFFRES, DANS UN COFFRE
TOI ET MOI
AU FOND DE LA MER
À L'EMPIRE DES OMBRES, SOLEIL VERT

On the ocean, I see, TOI, "No-else land"

On the ocean, I see
           On the ocean, I see
TOI, "No-else land"
Humane Society has offered to you
            Thanks hearty, bowed 9 + 3 times
At last... At last... At last, escaped away,
            brings with him
LA FIÈVRE PESTILENTE,
   DAMNATION ET VERTU DÉMORALISANTE
                                                   DÉMORALISANTE
                                                       DÉMORALISANTE

Help me...

Help me... Help me... Help me...
                 Marco Poliolo.
                        

MONTREZ MOI LES PLANS, Lopiolo Marco.
TOI, I see, I see, I see
AVEC GANT BLANC... SANS S
On the ocean,
           "No-else land"
Give me a life-raft,
           Sailing to my landing-craft
Help me...
           Marco Poliolo

Let me search between :
The documented tears of 2 crocodiles-green,
And the passport of a so called
Lady Kallianira, delivered in East-China.
           Anna,
HIMALAYA, is my sister Mary ?
Mary,
          Oh ! Mary-Jun-Na, Oh ! Mary-Jun-Na,
to marry my sister.
Smoking me... smoking me... smoking me...
            makes well forgotten
           CES RACONTAGES DE TOI ?
SOUS MON TOIT D'UN JET DE TOI,
TOI, I see on the ocean,
           "No-else land".
                   "No-else land".
                           "No-else land".

How deep is your sorrow,
NOYADE DE LA MER ?
As deep as the ocean.
How deep is the ocean,
MER DES NOYADES ?
As deep as your sorrow.

Here I sink,
        under my pillow.
       Here I sink,
                under my pillow.
               Here I sink,
                      under my pillow.

Those poetries are from the CD
"Song of une NOYADE et LE Shadow"

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