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short poem

frère, je suis le feu
au-dessus des dessus de toit emballez les ombres des nuages
c'est l'arsenal
certains des maux que vous avez traités
passé persistant de thou
vous faites ne pas entendre
leurs beaux cheveux
j'ai gagné la course
mais alas, rêves justes
dans pouvez
le petit pitoyable, porté, visages de rire
dites-moi pas
soudainement, hors des manières foncées et feuillues

 



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