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suicide poem

il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
il y a une heure du repos paisible
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
je dois dire bonne nuit
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques

 



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