En voici une dans la langue de Shakespeare...
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Ôm
I am that I ôm
A turtle of thoughts
Chewing on grasses in the shade
While a million Volvos speed
On your bedroom freeways
I am that I ôm
Among blinking cyclops
Only one eye for truth;
Chances are�?BR>They've missed something
I am that I ôm
Sick of leaning at night
A universal head on dislocated shoulders
Longing to connect
With a ghost
I am that I ôm
Among books and poets
Like a drunk in a wine cellar
Pumping words in my veins
Burgundy and rye
I am that I ôm
A frozen moon-ring
Hoping for a probe
Many light-years
From birth
I am that I ôm
Just peeling off
Dead skins by layers
Like a thousand
Afternoon in July
I am that I ôm
Carving vaginas
With the tongue
Of a calf
In Buddha cheese
I am that I ôm
Of moods and of comets
My body's a root
Which feeds on rhythmic
Hollow-synthesis
I am that I ôm
A cross on a map
Where you may dig up souls
And ghouls
For free
I am that I ôm
A rainy season somewhere
in the southern greens
Of your minds
Fresh mud for your clay pottery
I am that I ôm
Mani padme ôm
Searching for a letter
In my alphabet
Soup�?/DIV>