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life poem

n'accrochez aucune guirlande
il était un jeune oysterman grand
substance de la lune
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
allé avant nous
je secoue mes cheveux dans le vent du matin
j'ai gagné la course
si j'étais très sûr
dans votre vol
regardez dehors sur les étoiles, mon amour
ne restez pas plus
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé
dernier minuit

 



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