On bike home (suite en x #5)

La page est blanche et je m’etoile
J’y mets du stupre ou des toiles
Pour envelopper ton corps meurtri
Qu’aucun d’entre eux n’a su aimer
Les innommables

Je ne suis que ce que je peux
C’est pas beaucoup mais reste un peu
Tu peux m’aider ou me faire rire
Tu peux décider de partir

Je te protège contre le vent
C’est mon côté insouciant
Je suis étanche pour ce que j’aime
J’étouffe aussi
Lorsque j’oublie d’être poreux

Allez tends-nous
Nos corps en mal de s’emboîter
Et pour l’âme

Récrivons-nous demain
La ligne est toujours jeune

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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