Under the temple gutter
y'a romance
the saga of passing time
the procession of wooden soles
the thrill of the reeds
the hinge of a door
that we open
and creaks
tomorrow or after tomorrow
nothing at all
arms dangling
eyes up
horizontally
festoons of clouds
beyond the sky
in mild syncope
on the clay pavement
to scratch with chipped nails
the passage of ants
in the river to be
towards the treeless
wrinkled sand.
336
My age
sitting against the tree
looked
extinguished tallow ball
at nightfall
an icebreaker poultice
back from mission
of father and mother the descendant
at the risk of knowing
terminal flame
my annals scattered
a windy evening
open career
and
last cartage
in cahoots
with the apocalyptic reasoner
our builder
our gravedigger
our inventor.
337
Discount tide
retroceded tide
countdown tide
deposited tide
recovery tide
will i see the last hiccup
slide down
the gorse slope
standby
pond sphagnum
my correspondence
in a good crew
speeding along
without waiting for me to die
ebbing crying
under the mercantile canopy
family links.
338
Black of Black
in the underground writing desk
from corolla to corolla
tighten the rope
between dog and wolf.
Capture the prosody
of the screeching of vultures
dizzying sailboats
garbage collectors of remains
without suspicion
without counterfeit
overwhelming with sadness.
Rise of outstretched hands
sprung
white
of the anthracite wall
to the reflections of the moon
away from city lights
to the sound of whelks
sentinel draped in leather cloak
what does the cowherd wear
whip raised,
viaticum before the altar
where to surprise the avowed flaw.
The Grand Bédé stands
the screwed clown hat
on his forehead Frankenstein,
distaff gorilla
tagging on clay tablet
the wounds of his thought,
cuneiform traces
engraved on the doorstep
drip
of a sky crying to know itself loved.
335
In the green sun
of our childhood.
flowing water
from the well to the pond.
two newts
one male one female.
sweet scent
spring scents.
From top to bottom
the effigy is displayed.
The end clap
bite the dust.
Attached to barriers
the rainbow epilogue.
Tallow in the throat
the sliding of a rope.
The edge of desire
the landing net in hand.
Anything goes
everything reflects the presence.
In front of the mirror
cheerful face.
Move on from what's hard
to what is tender.
be in love
with oneself.
No theory
just an intensity from within.
Grace
we receive it.
Mom
stop telling me not to.
The transmission
a relay race.
Every soul is rich
attention to others.
full of butterflies
these weightless messengers.
Between broom and gorse
the walls open.
Spin the wind
avoiding dead ends.
Before the real silence
sweet romp.
Listen
the air to breathe.
334
So beautiful in the shade
and sewn in spirit
she strutted
straw hat
according to the matrix glances.
arose
between cats between dogs
brief surprises
without batting an eyelid
the cigarette in apostrophe.
Grumbled above
in the court of outrage
the cave frescoes
of his borrowed clothes
caught in the rays
of a bicycle
without crutch
with tinkling bell
and wooden fenders
to stand up straight.
She was zigzagging
from plane tree to plane tree
the frog ditch
bursting its bitter bubbles
as you wander.
Without ceremony
lace in the wind
she tore the morning mist
hands on the handlebar tape
a hint of mimosa on the nose.
So beautiful in the shade
and sewn in spirit
she strutted
straw hat
according to the matrix glances.
333
Step by step,
from trip to trip,
in a circus circle
that the sand insulates
the rumor raises the curtains of the show.
colorful entrance,
noisy barnum,
raised dust
of the animal procession,
passions of the soul
raised to the pinnacles of the temples
to dismantle,
to make sense
and transform.
Of blood and colors,
the furious cries of the Erinyes
have destroyed the landscapes of childhood,
the clay lips of springs
have made way
with cement nozzles,
the stone of the protections has been torn out,
the hedges have been cut down,
filled ditches,
the silver fox
will no longer find the center,
an evil wind blows the lumps of earth
towards the dry stone terraces,
an old ash tree whispers its last dispositions.
The night coos,
soul pigeons
overhanging
breaches of the human condition,
populist lies
replace the song of the poets,
the tracks of war engines
follow the iron shoes of the hairy,
the sky is darkening,
even the trees sculpted by the west wind
lay down in the storm.
The air is foul,
on the wailing wall
life papers
crumpled and forced
at the joints of the stones
covered in lichens
become panting flesh
of a random tzimtzum.
emaciated hands,
out of the pockets to match
scratch oblivion,
rolling eyes
clip the values of the spirit,
a sour cream
clown smile makeup
our last wanderings.
The fury takes over
at night,
in silence,
made ugly by the passes of arms
fights and hatreds,
dappled by lifting
new harvests,
become a willing accomplice
of a shoddy renaissance.
There is officinal herbs
than those of spring,
collegiate herbs
of lovers' kiss
scattered
in search of the great upheaval,
a piece of bread
at the bottom of the bag,
water in the ciborium of alterities.
We will raise the Sound of ricochets,
pebbles thrown on the river,
accessible to asylum seekers,
coming out of our exile.
332
memory in apnea
four flowers on the windowsill
little girl on all fours
afloat
of a shattered sun
by my brother, my friend, my son, my friend
associates
at dawn a blossoming almond tree
when the nail
strike out with a sharp line
the passage of summer
watchtower awakening
on the plain arranged
wise frontispiece
over the forest
attendant eye
without landing
thoughts
go up in return
this cathedral spire
bursting the heritage wicker basket
extent
on the sheet of origins
in the process of being
the hanging galoshes
at the ends of skinny legs
as you go
gold dust
hands erasing
the scepter of requirements
escaped lyrics
of a burst skin
suspicion of remembrances
without starvation
in this dark land
where women, men and children after the grapeshot
incense with their clarity
the armful of faded flowers
disheveled hair
to the sarcasm of spiked helmets
breaking the shins of bleached bodies
in the circus of an emergency evacuation
carts and bundles to match
my little girl
I will make fire
once again
tell you a bedtime story
silver foil
placed on the window sill
to float
on the sea of memories
courtship ritual
white aperture
doors of love
to push with a tender gesture
far far from shore
the shadow of the colossal elm.
331
Flew
the young man with the cigarette
in this imbroglio of stairs
without the step appearing
in exchange for a small chair
sit it down what will people say
with his long fingers
throw the derision
sparingly
Trojan horse
break and enter
vincent's room
down the hall of expectations
the cat jumps on the table
hug the child's neck
severing with a terminal glance
the game of a thousand and one temptations
breaking nights oven
raised trembling
the paddle wheel of renewals
in the cool morning
nevertheless cauterized
buttercups of these thoughts
with haunting breath
waivers
at dock
without the train tearing the air
of its invertebrate stridency
accumulation of combustion waste
for in part
renew the ardent bending of the faun
in front of the chanting virgin.
Behind the window
winter trees
avoided deciding on the spot
words of love from a bygone past.
330
At the edge of the dream
the father
hold out your hand
the mother
hands behind the back
the dog
close the trail
the child
hides.
In the distance a Dutch mill
first floor
the apartments are open
the columns support the arches
a milky white covers the walls
the horse is ready.
One !
monte
erase the treats
with a gesture
don't hold back death
be the wind in the cool of the clear morning
be the glower of your space
hiccups life
vermilion with a spasm
be heaven in glory
my child
my diamond of the moment
at the corner of the lips
point of smile
just the occasion for a cavalcade
just the friction with the eternal.
lightning bolt
you know the way
slowly
except for the interdicts
inclinations of the shadows.
Be
frozen at the calvary of the married
the target of truths
this piece of velvet
where to lay your head
eye to eye
before the tear.
317