10 secondes d’ombre en trop (suite en x numéro 4)

Ecrire

sur la conscience de tes reins

Dans la distance

comme un refrain

En bout de course et du canon

Salopant les toiles des maîtres qui nous séparent nous et toi et je

Tirer boom et fumée c’est toi qui sais

C’est toi qui charges en bandoulière et qui fais pencher le montagnes

Au pied desquelles je m’abîme

Et des ciseaux et du papier

pour qu’on se plie en ribambelles

Laisse-moi t’accordéonner

Quand j’ai tiré tu billes en tête

à la fenêtre

A regarder les ronds

de fumée qui sortent

De ta cigarette

tête casquée

I'm writing. Poems. Stories. Songs. And not so boring reviews about movies, actors and, when I get really angry, news. In the blank spaces, I'm teaching. "Littérature". In a high school. A French one. In Copenhagen. In Denmark. On Earth, in the so-called (Scientist, Priests, Painters, Bakers and Postmen but curiously no Politics) so, in the so-called Universe, on Earth, in Denmark, Copenhagen. My biography is still in progress and will be updated when required. Next time I'm considering quitting everything for a non-sense relocation project of myself in Louisiana (the American one) or writing a poem to some iconic beautiful woman who has crossed my path for just a glance and I want to make it last. In vain, it goes without saying : told you I was a poet. Here it is folks. Haw ! most of all, and not to be forgotten : All my Love. Enjoy reading (and not only me). Sébastien

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