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graduation poem

un orage monte sur la marée
êtes vous éveillé?
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
j'aime mon heure de vent et de lumière
ne soyez pas faux
les poèts le disent
soyez dans moi comme modes éternels
il est vrai que vous disiez que les dieux sont plus d'utilisation à vous que des fées
en septembre
désolé et seul
nous avons aucune honte?
les voûtes du pont rouge
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
nos moments plaisants volent

 



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