Tu te termines avec les doigts
Faut bien lécher qu’est-ce que tu crois
Il y a les plis et les gerçures
Passe deux fois les meurtrissures

Creuse ce qui fait mal
Ne fais pas l’animal
Insiste là où c’est tendre
Tu verras il y a à rendre

Au-delà du pus tu puiseras la source
D’un nouvel élan que le poison te souffle
Et tu finiras dans mes bras
Coquine qui lape aux blessures

Pour que rien ne sache
De ce qui s’est passé avant
Pour que rien ne se lâche
Qui ne conforte les mirages du présent

Joyeux Noël en solitude
Joyeux Noël en clef de l’Ut
Et si tu peux envoie-moi les restes
J’en saurai faire des ribambelles


S., Noël 2017, Copenhague

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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