Insuffle-moi ta peine


You drove a cross into days

that tasted like eyebrows

strangled your pain around syllables

for him, over there

the one who doesn’t see you

and    for     parasites like me


today I want to be sad

and so I am

I want to pour sadness over my head

from the swill bucket of sadness

and after I’ve doused myself

I’ll light a match and set sadness on fire

…I’m so tired…


I’ll think of the monk and his immolation

I’ll think of a planet in its isolation

I’ll think of the crushed wing of the butterfly

I’ll think of the salesman’s smile, the girl who didn’t cry

I’ll think of what I don’t remember

I’ll remember to close the door

open it again



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