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daughter poem

si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
pour vêtir la pensée ardente
il raconte de bonnes vieilles périodes
je suis le vent qui hésite
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
j'ai gagné la course
dans ma main je me tiens
dépassement par les murs blottis et laids
elle était beaucoup et beaucoup d'il y a une année
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
il aurait même sa plaisanterie

 



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