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family poetry

c'est l'arsenal
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
souvent je pense ŕ la belle ville
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
ŕ l'aube, il a dit
le parfum est venu
j'ai vu la premičre poire
avec le coucher du soleil
quand, plein de l'amour chaud et désireux
étaient elle pas pour cette odeur singuličre
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
dites-moi pas
tristement parlant

 



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