Regrets on the table

dirty gestures filled with fatigue

a normal role

in a frozen existence

inert objects fixed in sadness

cut and cancel what remains

of those fingerprints left

on these tired papers

of holidays witnesses

of these rubbings of habits





Detail the boredom

lengthen the fear

check each day

the assassin's dance





Sweat           revealing our guilt

in the instincts' underground

our fugitive muscles





I have made dreams

of a man who lived on the ground

of surrogate mothers

who fled

of drunk soldiers

in an amusement park

of inflatable dolls

in an empty pool





I would like to make a gallows

I would attach the flesh

I would search for tears

without any movement

with a long prayer

I would wipe your feet from their wounds

bruised with lies





The possessive fades

picking stones

to contain the rain

pain that is not mine





Tired eyes

I pissed on my sweater

I washed the void

I wiped the sounds

I tied flowers to a chair

I filled the time with heat

I dug a hole





Standing, Insane

I wear a cold blanket.










March 2017


EN / FR                     Text translated from French by Aoi Kotsuhiroi

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