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def poetry jam

n'accrochez aucune guirlande
comme bougie blanche
je me demande parfois s'il est vraiment vrai
ma douleur, quand elle est ici avec moi
roulez-moi vers le bas par le pré
avec le rouge de sang de lèvres et le coeur de la pierre
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
dans votre vol
ne tournez pas votre tête
je me tiens par temps gris froid
ils dans le rassemblement d'obscurité et demandent


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