Perfect Code Poem by Pierre Rausch

But to-day
Purer light as is
That today called
An alley of large poplars at furthest end
This garden is oblong
A man who is fleeing thoughts of himself
This garden was oblong in shape
If one isn't alarmed
A staircase opens
Peculiar and clear
What is there that is perfect?
Unknown to yourself
Shouldn't he dash?
Instinct from sight
That had freedom
A rift in the immense pane
Cut up by arcade
The old man had remained
Possible to slip
Of the regions
Regained the quay
A gulf on high
But saw no one, saw none
Walls weren't bare, the chamber
A gulf on high
Wasn't furnished; there was a chair
About six feet square
Tape attached to bell-wire
Supposed that a living being had been so
wonderfully thin as to essay
An entrance or an exit through a square
It allowed the passage of the eye
A tablet of wood
Without being thrown into confusion
Prescribed and adored
Sometimes rare
You could see nothing