Of expired cream at the bottom of a cardboard pot he made his meal like a hesitant fly on the windowsill. The wooden bench was dirty a newspaper will do to ask in his grime-hardened mantle under a light rain. Then get up staggering for along the sidewalk wobble a few steps towards the alley of straight trees with serrated leaves. there are days where the thick cloud hesitates to break through in the face of misery where we were pushed in the alley of the dead. Baggage, point a good raincoat, point closed shoes, point woolen gloves, point a hint of a smile, point. Hirsute, disheveled hair he went from street to street sit at the foot of a building between two canine shits clutching her black shopping bag. On the piece of paper he had to see a doctor but he forgot and the social worker dittoa large gray cat quietly passed by. In the setting sun had to find the place to slouch maybe lie down in the constant noise of traffic which would diminish. He knew the area since the time he wandered the man of our time within sight that we could offer him. He had a viaticum a stuffed animal with gnawed ears by the dog that had accompanied him some hot weather and polar cold, successively. 741
Rising up and downon the wood panelthe fences of the soulavaient fière allure.Wild flowers grew therebareback like our joyous laughterpigmenting our instinctsdes gouttes de sang sur la pierre blanche.Finger on the triggerby correcting the targetthe heraldic lessonprenait corps contre le frêne.In the morningon this random slateformed islands and peninsulasà petits jets de vapeur humidifiante.To tender tearson the cheek of repentanceanswered ash feversous les crocs de l'absence.Oedipal caresson the transverse flutethe momentum was seriousun deux trois soleil.Mixing shadows and lightat the victorious prowwhere life is earneds'engagèrent des nuits sans sommeil.For the pruned candleban from our prisonsle lingot d'ordes ténacités événementielles.Came right up against methe appearance of simple thingsthis thought of fever : what was said about me ? Featured, both, at the threethe sun againallowing me the perfect escapedans les halliers de la forêt.Shared stories, acquired opinionswe were able to join our householdin a circle under the palaver treeéchanger le thym et la lavande.There was thereso much tenderness and franknessthat each word gorged with orgeatclochetait aux pinacles de la mémoire.739
He had descended from his perch lean and beetle to cause a stir on metal boards it looked like a pink chime listing the hours quickly done well done matter of making you thirsty if necessary to take the stage.
Flamenco lasted so long only tap dances and castanets tear apart their magnetic knowledge to metonymic offers à cru et à dia women's eyes compelled to consent to fury of oculi out of their sockets without the beast looking gray.
During that time the grain was hoarded by torchlight scratching with their tremolos the workers' lofts with the hoppers deposited without the screaming dagger does not satisfy the nasty poet that border assignment made sensitive to the mercy of the wind.
Riding his bag filled with trouble and fury the man of the caudine pitchforks fell in love with the day that is dawning. The place is unstable death row circumspect jet sample the honey of the last risings. To maintain the lower jaw clawed pochard worsen the situation outside the curvature of time. Do not move addiction monster be the continuation of childhood crickets lower the need for voluptuousness by a notch. By vociferating the name of delights dewclaws are pain watertight walls of withdrawal foraged meadows without flowers for no reason. No smiles under this screed the hands suggest the origins collar the sun crumbles its secrets it's time to get up early. 737
Water so sweet to purify the arm of the assassins so that the Holy Chrism crochet some advances. Thus put me on notice to receive the pardon of the condemned and count the days of my reclusive life. Animals passed under the window the night of starry whispers that the chimeras split with great thrusts. Can't but I called father and mother from the belly of the earth to the hair of bare trees. I got it to accompany the crew without getting caught in the ropes of this assignment to the work. There was thereand the musk and the woundonly at the forkthe day was barely widening.
736
I walk therefore I am and I don't need much let the bell toll the withdrawal of our troops. They were brave our soldiers when the very shadow of their groans fluttered before the night of the soul suitable sister of a fiery cloud. Post-Disaster Grass was oily and textured just like a damask reddened with women's blood. One step then another the body began to shake in front of the kiss of the sun tormented by the crumpled clouds. In the wheat of the fields with a drunken butterfly I assemble the beam of fire for the return of the living. 735
Don't lift the word too much wooden cross iron cross go to hell the children of the dying. Slowly turn off leftovers from the night before mixed ashes those offerings to the gods that reason venerates. There is no worse fear than hunting behind the deer then to raise the cross of flames. Call dizziness and nausea when silence becomes an accomplice remorse at making the other coit without the rub. Deliver the admirable juice Mirabelle plums my sisters where to indulge mirror on beautiful summer nights. By master's hand to be born from the coal of the excavations the rich power of kind words to do gouzi-gouzi to the sons of the spirit. 734
La poésie c'est direc'est rire du rienc'est partir sans se retournerpour que la vérité advienne. La poésie accrochée au Levantrefait les gestes d'antanen guettant par le trou de serrurel'arrivée du printemps. La poésie c'est attendrec'est atteindrec'est attenter aux bonnes mœursen soupçonnant le mal d'être de la partie. La poésie c'est le claquement secd'une fin de partieoù restent après la représentationles diamants purs du néant. La poésie c'est la terreet le ciel et la merquant au rythme d'une escarpolettele revenez-y t'appelle. La poésie c'est mourir un peuau fond de la caverneà convertir en motsles aléas du dehors. La poésie c'est vivre à bon escientla chair fraîche des tempêteslorsque le livre replie ses pagesla mèche allumée. La poésie c'est être hors toutà vif à blancau feu de l'occasionet mourir sur le flanc après la mitraille. La poésie c'est grand et carréà contresens des fleurs bleueslorsque les yeux de flanellejaillissent d'un crâne éclaté. La poésie c'est mignonnette et compagniesur le bord de la soucoupeà compter les boudoirs de l'afflictionà cinq heures de l'après-midi. La poésie est tueuseet colérique et monstrueusepour mâter le rebelle endormiaux marches de la déraison. La poésie c'est être autreau plus bas comme au plus hautau coin de la rue telle l'abeilleà guetter le bourdon. la poésie tripatouillepour s'infiltrer dans le manchon de fourrurequand sonne le bétonsous la santiag de l'optimiste. La poésie pleure le divin perdupour enquêter sur ce qui demeuredans la cité aux quatre ventsouverte à la parole. La poésie c'est lettre molleaux lèvres de l'humanité nouvelleà lécher fraternellementle retour vers l'Absolu. La poésie c'est Dieu et pas Dieusans violence sans virulencetoutes lances dehorsen gardant ses distances. La poésie est paresseusequand passe le marchand de sableallégorie des cieux intérieursau service de sa progéniture. La poésie c'est pensersans y pensermais jamais s'agenouillerdevant la prise de pouvoir. La poésie cette rebelletourne autour de soiet détoure la figurine de l'amourdes avances de Narcisse. La poésie manque à l'appelen contournant l'auto-dérisionlorsque le plaisir vous hèlesur un air d'accordéon. La poésie est làsource d'angoisseles vaisseaux brûlésau port de l'astreinte. La poésie c'est le bon père de famillequi furtivementde sa sacoche au verbe hautfait jaillir le génie de la lampe. La poésie c'est moi c'est toic'est ce qui heurte du chefles poutres du grenieren verticalité assumée. La poésie c'est une caressesur la joue du ventlors les larmes de la louveappeler ses petits. 733
away from romance équarri au sceptre divinle carénage des vieilles autosfait la nique aux icônesà travers champssuch silver arrow piquée au cœurque les sapeursretrouvent sous la herse du temps. Sonnailles de tous les joursorgue tenant la note sous la rosacele pas des moinesglisse sous les arcadesà l'unisson du pont-leviscaressant de ses chaînesles pierres usées du porcheà l'approche souffreteused'une claudicante valetaille. Mesurez vos approchesne gardez en mémoireque la main leste de l'entre-lignesderrière l'étroit vitrailde ces feuilles glacéesque le givre a scelléesau vent des pleursde l'enfant épelant l'alpha et l'oméga. 732
