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family poetry

je ne brûle aucun encens
remuez
levé des morts
le parfum est venu
les petites prières blanches
quand j'ai regardé dans vos yeux
jusqu'à sa fenêtre de chambre
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
allé avant nous
jamais dans toute ma vie
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
sommeil, frère gris de la mort

 



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