Waves of dizziness
seaglass juxtaposed
on fleeting misery
Clara sortit son carnet bleu et nota : « cet homme assis à ma gauche se moque -t’il de moi ? » Elle noircit son carnet de plusieurs points d’interrogation avant de reposer son crayon. Elle fit glisser son regard vers la table en terrasse où l’inconnu lisait, paisiblement. « Soleil couchant », Faulkner, éditions Folio, le livre qu’elle venait d’achever, l’avant-veille, assise exactement à la même table de café, place Gambetta.
Read MoreA man
in a black waistcoat and polished shoes
A silver pocket watch dangling from bony fingers
and a bouquet of yellow poppies tucked underneath his arm
He looks up and whistles softly
Laughing, taunting,
Push me down
Faces looming,
over ground
That little drop of dew,
swooping down from the sky,
and coming towards you,
like a tear from up high
The tongue of it swooping in
light blotted out
stained by the spreading whoosh
of an intertwined path
looming over
Hovering above you
present and threatening
of a nature slithering
towards time itself
He breathed without a reason to
A sky with just a single star
He turned, and looked right back at you
To hear that music from afar
Dearest Judith,
I know you may not read this letter for fear that I am writing to shower you with bitter accusations. I assure you that I simply could not hold a grudge against you for much longer, as justified as my anger may be.
Oh saint truth,
Thief of fire,
Did you sin,
Or retire?
You have lied,
Oh my honest,
Truth has died,
False-faced forest