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grandma poem

il aurait même sa plaisanterie
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
je ne prie pas pour la paix
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
les jours endeared à chaque MUSE
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate

 



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