in a contagion of dithyrambic images
on poetry
its beauty, its truth proceed from a profound dialectic between the life and death of language, between density of the word and the ennui of syntax
on modern poetry
it is this weapon alone which can strip the poetic metaphor of its artifice, reveal it as the fulguration of a truth, won over a continuous nausea of language
Minou Drouet's texts in this sense appear as the antiphrasis of all poetry insofar as they flee that solitary weapon of writers, literality
they are more like rhizomatic connections
