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baby poem

sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
doux et fort
il est venu me prendre par la main
j'ai vu les archangels dans mon pomme-arbre la nuit passée
y a il quiconque là
elle pourrait l'avoir su en ressort premier
il y a trois manières dont les hommes prennent
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage
mon âme disparaît plaquée dans des choses magnifiques
il y avait un strangeness sur vos lèvres
seule

 



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