Blue Man Me
to look at each other under a gray sky
and live again
in special operation
with the angel of the blank page
face to face
having hit rock bottom
in this late summer
at the crossroads of visions
open doors
in order to receive
then to leave
GPS off
not to distinguish the true from the adornment
the smile of disaster.      
 
Blue Man Me   
we both
roped up on the Evettes ridge
gently in pain
in the freshness of a calm morning
when the shadow goes up the duvet
to the bottom of the circus.       
 
Blue Man Me
to leave the content
the gaze never wanders
the sweet gaze of the baby
lost in a void
where to deny
the prince walking on water
without rule
randomly
with his big knife
while we have yet to discover
the beautiful flower of blood and love
brandished on the tarmac of a last audition
before the final pullout
without resisting bushy works
of a dissolved identity.      
 
Blue man Me
my father
awkwardly
distractedly
distinctly
fled
in the flapping of a butterfly's wing.      
 
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