"Me, I mysterize myself, I mysterize myself
Explaining myself to the forest,
to the intaglioed trees, to the empty birds,
howling with the skin of the wolf whose teeth I dream..."

...The too-short life of poet, painter, and sculptor Jean-Pierre Duprey ended tragically with suicide in 1959. In cahoots with Breton and other Surrealists, he kept a distance too, writing prose and verse poems of extraordinarily vivid relations. In "Rose of Ashes," he writes:

What remains, what remains?
Of the sky only a large cloth creased with ghosts and the eyes fill only the sockets of emptiness.
A spider dislodges night; she is the dream of a dead woman.
She has in herself the open sex of night and her little ones will go forth and blacken the sleep of the living.
A secret step closes the hole of silence.
And the star turns pale.

Perhaps his greatest creative act, quietly pissing on the eternal flame under the Arc de Triomphe, proved to be his undoing. Beaten in jail for the act, he returned home, set his affairs in order then hanged himself. Luckily, his written record survives: "Me, I mysterize myself, I mysterize myself," he wrote. "Explaining myself to the forest, to the intaglioed trees, to the empty birds, howling with the skin of the wolf whose teeth I dream..."