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slam poetry

je ne prie pas pour la paix
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité
comme lui à qui esprit dans la flamme du midi
doux et fort
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
je me demande où vous vivez
mon fils est mort et je suis aveugle allant
pourquoi faites-vous toujours stand tremblant là

 



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