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modern poetry

un mot de vol d'ici et là
il y a des gains pour toutes nos pertes
elle a éclaté le vin féroce
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
sous la barre du guerrier
les petites prières blanches
levé des morts
à minuit
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits
vous êtes beau et fané
regardez dehors sur les étoiles, mon amour
pourquoi sont les choses qui n'ont aucune mort
j'ai gagné la course

 



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