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free love poetry

il n'y avait jamais un bruit près du bois mais d'un
je me tiens par temps gris froid
tous en dedans et tous sans moi
s'il
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
je dois dire bonne nuit
peu de porte a été atteinte enfin
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
je suis le vent qui hésite
vous avez marche vue par le village

 



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