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suicide poetry

quand je suis retourné au coucher du soleil
fleur blanche de mousse, fleur rouge de flamme
dans le port de New York
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
je me suis tenu prĂŞt le tissu pour rideaux ouvert
jamais dans toute ma vie
et mon nom est véridique
c'est l'arsenal
je remplis cette tasse
et avec l'oiseau de ronflement
pourrions nous mais savoir
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux

 



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