the hailstones were falling like dragons
attacking the windows of the North Tower
it was a New Moon, the beginning of a golden era,
the end of a long shift
his arm stretched, brought the sun from the dungeon
tied one of its rays, gently to my little finger
and nailed it to the sky with a swift move
the clouds collapsed like a pack of cards
(Queen of spades fell to pieces, like it never existed)
and then he held my hand, his sword and shield
leaning peacefully against the rest of my world
Et il n'a pas répondu.
La nuit passe sur la page blanche
s'ouvre sur sa voix par le tunnel des mots
Partout ce visage sans traits
il s'éloigne trop
il s'approche trop
et il n'y a que l'air qui se prépare à l'accueillir
N.B. Ce poème fait partie d'un "alphabet" poétique, le sens de chaque poème étant intimement lié au sens des autres. A suivre.
yesterday i learned that blonde people
with blue eyes kill too
it was a surprise as we always knew that
a third of europe and a quarter of america
is populated with this angelic tribe
a sort of human barbie
who doesn’t kill and only do good
for them even the sex is painless and ethereal
but yesterday we learned that blonde people
kill too
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