The look in your eyes
Colder than ice
Is keeping me trapped
Into a non-dimensional
Space
On my face
Mountains of green
Rivers within
Empty skies
My blind eyes
Hold the look in your eyes
Her black glove is flying across downtown.
“A crow!” they shouted. “A crow is attacking Eiffel Tour!”
...cry of a rooster/the goat is smiling...
She knows/He knows.
“Purple and white, of course!”
A wedding for a happy end.
A picture for a wedding.
The glove has no wing.
Just a small hole through
thick and thin.
Kept especially for the sixth finger.
en dérive non pas d'objet en objet
mais de couleur en couleur
de noir en blanc de noir en blanc
de noir en noir en noir
matins
un à un
en dérive
non pas d'objet en objet
mais de dérive en dérive
mesurant l'entre-temps
quand la lumière devient
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
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