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pumpkin poem

j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
je me suis tenu
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
frère, je suis le feu
laissez le bel unsaid de mots
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
simplicité
il y a un pays complètement de vin
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement

 



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