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



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: