Poésie pour le temps courant / Poetry for Current Times

Gesture

What did I write and what did I mean
Two questions that have nothing to do with my heart beating
Under the yellow sky
A conjuration of my old time against me
My attempt to be unfolded and the opposite desire
I don’t know what I wrote
I was thinking of something else
There is my brain and there is my tongue and not a blur in between
But a very clean space where they are all of mine
Trying to fool the landscape where I should have some rest
And some understanding
I did not know I was supposed to lie whatever I try to achieve
A stone upon the later
To climb a ladder that would put me under the clearance
Of a yellow moon
The angle my dear the angle you cannot avoid
Is the only reason truth is just but a nightmare
That was grabbing my shoulder with a smile in my back
I tried to figure it out and the more I kept on doing it
The more the sky wrapped my conscience in a fairy threaded dress
I kept on complaining but I kept on staring
And the more I was trying the more closed were the curtains
I betrayed my tongue and the new one played tricks with me
I betrayed all the people and the loneliness kept standing out of reach
There is no solution for the moment I write
This is the last sentence
I would write before faking some inconvenient gesture
So I’m here and you’re not here with me

illustration : Odilon Redon, Saint Jean, 1892.