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autumn poetry

dites-moi moins ou dites-moi davantage
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
la noblesse de la mort encore
j'ai su le silence des étoiles et de la mer
ombres étendues le long de broadway
sommeil, frère gris de la mort
elle a un espace libre, loveliness vent-abrité
gros mâles noirs dans une salle de vin-baril
sans aucun doute je me rappelle toujours
mon âme est un champ labouré foncé

 



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