ainsi soit-il en toutes lettres
un livre sans abri
le même voyageur oublié sans étoile
au bord d’un seul mot comme un grain de blé sur mon coeur
son âme gardant tous les nuages d’un monde vendu
aux cieux
pour la dernière fois
il regardait ses mains trop vertes mais pas assez longues
commençant à pousser chaque nuit
Motto: "There's a little girl's voice that sings lullabies in my guest room closet but don't mind her; she died years ago. Here's your blanket"
the night squeezes moon juice into my dreams
and I lemon my way through thick syrupy words
going round and round above, in my head
like a dotto train
ding ding ding!!
(Luna-land here, everyone off!!)
fantasies of the weak
begging like potato chips in a bag to be crunched
at least once
in a commercial with a second hand banner and no pride
Romeo is dead
Juliet gets over it
escapes Paris
goes to Switzerland
opens a bank account
gets a sex change
her name is now Clive
he lives in Brighton
cuts hair and rides his bike on the pier
on Sundays
while stroking his Burmese cat, Mr Kipling,
Clive reads Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet - his favourite
the final scene in the Capulets’ chapel - so real and tragic and…
Wait!
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