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modern poetry

un stylo d'acier
si j'étais trčs sűr
la agonie d'avoir trop de puissance
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
les drowses pâles de jour sur l'occidental trempent
j'ai moulé le monde
s'est levé et l'ambre était le coucher du soleil sur le fleuve
dans les halls du sommeil vous avez erré prčs
le parfum est venu
sous la feuille sombre de laurier
je vous chante
je fais ma monture, mais personne ne sait

 



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