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black poetry

une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée
pensées par ma tête
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
je dois dire bonne nuit
dernier minuit
dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
descendu à l'aube des collines windless
je réside à la montagne de table
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette

 



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