These wrinkles of what we know    
 lead us more than reason    
 those botoxed wrinkles    
 don't bode well    
 if not transformation    
 so much doubt is there    
 to dispense with explanations    
 from hand to hand    
 before the necessary step forward    
 to a world that does not yet exist    
 we worshipers of things concluded    
 with plenty of privileges in the pockets    
 to avoid surprise.        
  
 I confess to having made sure    
 so that nothing unpleasant can happen to me.        
 I confess to having lived small    
 as a lover of the little nothing.        
  
 I confess to having played with the passage of time    
 to make it last longer    
 without knowing what to do.        
  
 I confess to having lived above ground    
 without worrying about the earth    
 apart from images of Épinal    
 with multiple entries    
 in search of the wolf of the fable 
 who eats goats     
 and thinks he's freer than the dog.        
  
 I confess to having opened the box of the imaginary 
 of so much accumulated dust    
 taken for the breeding ground    
 with a dissolute frolic    
 to say thank you to the twirl of instincts.        
  
 I confess to having reinvented the world    
 just by changing your vision    
 on the spot without anything moving.        
  
 I confess I walked the critical zone    
 inveterate praise    
 to fill me hollow    
 on the quicksand of uncertainty    
 without seeing the heart of annihilation.        
  
 The wind ripples the beach    
 and souls shiver.               
  
 Containment wrinkles the plagiarism of our habits.       
  
 The real earth wrinkles the little earth    
 where i think i live.        
  
 The roof joists creak    
 the cyclops falls asleep    
 the dormouse nibbles a prize of war    
 in last intention    
 silence falls.        
  
 What should we keep from this upheaval ?        
  
 Gonna have to mutate    
 and leave to the nettles of oblivion    
 dentures and itching.        
  
  
 717
   

 
 
 A thousand voices scattered our thoughts on the horizon    
 passing from life to death      
 we buried ourselves underground    
 to go up from the dark galleries    
 the gray matter of our hatreds.        
  
 Laughing on the front    
 where stone meets earth    
 the salamander busy perfecting its hole    
 joined the vair of carbuncles    
 of your past as queen.        
  
 Wear point    
 in view of the situation    
 as long as our eyes meet    
 ancrage vertical    
 on the horizontal of our tasks.        
  
 Don't keep close to you anymore    
 unescorted smiles    
 of these passing soldiers    
 keeping in receipt    
 our sacred momentum.        
  
 It is first hand    
 that we absolve    
 this street corner listening    
 so that the strange stranger    
 seizes us with loss and crash.        
  
 there was magic    
 in return for this escapade    
 where the heel caught in the grids    
 erased the helper shadow    
 of our secret topics.        
  
 Imagine that they filled it    
 this zinc tank at the entrance to the meadow    
 and that the woodpecker with the hammer    
 clashed with our evening hopes   
 what will people say my dear.        
  
 And then to tell each other everything    
 among the crowns and armbands of the communicants    
 there was the exchange of wedding rings    
 this passing of the hymn    
 looking forward to being together.        
  
 Get in the caravan    
 under the harness of the forge masters    
 forces the overbearing    
 to admire oneself in the water of the reach    
 until the steel hardens.        
  
 Combining the shore and the river    
 with large armfuls of flowers    
 the poor little boy    
 in his Sunday jacket    
 stood still against the pile of wood.        
  
 Putting the puzzle pieces together    
 make the rounds of our cities    
 to be iron and oil    
 of this cardinal wandering    
 on the paths of the Kingdom.        
  
  
 716 

 
 
 rebel twine    
 without worrying about her    
 in green prayers    
 of an uncovered watercress    
 following the stream    
 of our disjointed bones    
 before the faithful call    
 of our thoughts    
 open access    
 without singing the frost    
 rebels break in    
 of a passing morning    
 with a metallic sound    
 pot handles.        
  
  
 715
   

 
 
 Give a hand    
 one morning    
 on the cool horizon    
 rising sap    
 that had to be sought    
 in the north    
 on the edge of the frost    
 while smoking    
 the envelopes of our desires    
 wrapped gift paper    
 without knowing where to go    
 apart from the conductive hand     
 the next day.        
  
  
 714
   

 
 
 This work in fragments    
 through the dormant window    
 in the glare of a bright sun    
 I walked the inner courtyards    
 small episodes of my life    
 swigs of honey    
 of their sea conchs excluded    
 there was there    
 the wheat and the chaff    
 in feigned sagacity    
 garbage collector    
 obliterated with the seal of the movement    
 apparent pitfall to the rhythm of the tides    
 that the gaze freezes in its foam.        
  
  
 713
   

 
 
 Follow each other teasing each other    
 mounted roses of hope    
 at the tip of the index finger    
 where desire legislates.        
  
 There is no romance    
 that the slow flow of lava    
 along the bougainvillea of ​​the mind    
 oh childhood pochade !        
  
 Soothed upon contact with the wound    
 the obligatory marriage    
 moaned about having to be    
 although he had already been.        
  
 True oath of the night    
 on his ascending moon    
 wandering invites fear    
 without chance getting involved.        
  
 To the decoction of dreams    
 to the decameron of curves    
 at the top of the sailboat    
 the vermilion prolongs its blood flow.        
  
 Distressed to be the rival    
 with courageous bravado    
 the task of imprecations    
 was to solicit the unaccomplished.        
  
 Get out of your soul    
 the passage of geese    
 omen of the weary look    
 of the rise of crowds in spring.        
  
 Don't get me wrong    
 there will be plenty of oats    
 so that the saving area of ​​pilgrims    
 lends itself to mischief.        
  
 Get lost    
 but don't get me wrong    
 in the pretty woods of mirlitons    
 body in swoon.        
  
 Haruspices dedicated to the provider    
 the skylights creaked    
 with a rush    
 scattered walnut shells.        
  
 Strange passerby    
 according to the spring drinking    
 we were able to reach the camp    
 seriously affected by the rebuff.        
  
 She tasted like wild strawberries    
 the rose garden of my loves    
 and the wind that lifted her braids    
 allowed the wave of its mirror to filter through.        
  
  
 712