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poem

je vous ai détesté
levé des morts
le poing serré simple soulevé et préparent
à certains les gros dieux
le soleil a fait un pas vers le bas de son trône d'or
puisque, si vous vous teniez prêt mon côté aujourd'hui
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
la nuit était noire et triste
a arqué l'inondation
dans sa tente gardée
serene d'après-midi et lumineux verts
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu
maintenant que je me suis refroidi à vous

 



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