Accueil
Down to the Earth.
Someone is knocking on the door.
Down to the heart.
Something to breath?
“Come! Come!”
A ghost is running in the street below my window.
Who can tell me his name?
My eyes are closed.
My eyes are opened.
The flat is empty. As usual. As a rule.
My naked body.
My clothes? There. On the chair.
I have to get dressed.
I have to follow the ghost.
You know, I do not know its name. And a ghost must have a name.
The rain is cold. Skinny rain. Anorexic weather.
A lace made of cold icy water.
I love the cold, icy, lace.
Where is the ghost?
Someone is knocking on the door.
Down to the heart.
Something to breath?
“Come! Come!”
A ghost is running in the street below my window.
Who can tell me his name?
My eyes are closed.
My eyes are opened.
The flat is empty. As usual. As a rule.
My naked body.
My clothes? There. On the chair.
I have to get dressed.
I have to follow the ghost.
You know, I do not know its name. And a ghost must have a name.
***
The rain is cold. Skinny rain. Anorexic weather.
A lace made of cold icy water.
I love the cold, icy, lace.
Where is the ghost?
Les contes gris