My room is full of ghosts
I checked with the administration
And they said it’s safe
(they always say that)
Nobody is here
But they don’t see what I see
They don’t see all my dead friends
Playing whist at the table near the window
And never winning
Nor do they see dad painstakingly tuning the radio to find
That sad political debate every night
Or the old lady (her name keeps eluding me)
Knitting quietly near the grey tv set
And definitely they don’t see her
Smiling so strange
dim, turbid, huge waves, sometimes
troubled silt, quicksand
by sky water clouds
and you can not see
but the early mornings
you know, there has been a window you
crouched on the ledge because thus you could run
amongst the sands of darkness onto the path to stars,
a way often gilded by moon
and even when it was raining, was windy, or storm
barrier was not actually there
thus you could watch above,
until the sun scattered crystals
and the wall appeared in all his greatness
La lumiere et ses ombres, Ed. Jacques Bremond, France, 2006
enroulement du continu
elle aspire immobile
tournant sur elle-même
angles aveuglés
rotation perpétuelle
arrachement à soi
spire après spire
les syncopes ne s'opposent plus au continu
tourbillon respire
dans son mouvement
ondulant
boucle infinie
voyelle inaccomplie
autour de l'axe du vertige renversé
Comentarii aleatorii