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family poetry

juste en tant que mes doigts sur ces clefs
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
les montagnes ils sont les gens silencieux
je tiens votre coeur
comme je me trouve couvert dedans, examiné dedans
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
dans pouvez
quelque part j'ai lu un conte étrange, vieux, rouillé
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
le vieil ouest, le vieux temps
treize ans toujours

 



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