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suicide poem

j'au-dessus-avais préparé l'événement
je ne prie pas pour la paix
le ciel
un poèt, ayant pris le frein outre de sa langue
behold je, en mon chiffon, gaze et tresse
et ils marchaient toujours dessus
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
j'ai vu qu'un dieu vous doutent de lui?
nous avons aucune honte?
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
bas! 'tis par nuit de gala
en tant qu'elle

 



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