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contemporary poetry

les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
je sais pas oĂą
l'air est plein de l'aube et du ressort
par le rivage, par la mer
j'ai moulé le monde
dites-moi pas
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
en matins nuage-gris
nous nous étendons
quand le vent fonctionne contre nous dans l'obscurité

 



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