L’homme Qui Ment


Apparently, I was only wounded.
phantom of flesh…
a stone in the current, dead branches…
My hands are his hands
as if we shared the same mind,
wrapped in each other arms,

I’d like a small bottle of
The vermin in the mattress.
the treachery in my eyes.
without a cross, without an epitaph…
My body was left there,
I’ll be back in the spring.

I can’t stand these lies anymore.
The noise of a man running
There was barbed-wire
death comes quickly.
We trusted each other completely…

I myself nailed up the pine coffin
strangled on her bed.
I was called Jean Robin.
There’s no room for you.
and it’s out of my heart.
with thistle seeds floating in the wind.

All I have left is his house.
And you, lovely, empty head,
by this house full of ghosts and
The traces we were so careful
the fortifications.
wept over our grave.

No, I came here from the lowlands.
through the woods.
too beautiful for him.
the same memory,
here in the mountains.
and beautiful.

beside his lifeless body.
mouth to mouth.
It was the best way to make you come.
Yes, that’s it: barricades and sentries
beauty are his eyes.
when I think…


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