When I woke up I was in a dark room
Do you like pie?
It may be fog, but it isn’t fog
I could do nothing except listen
The Weight of the average child
Some still protruded from his chest
On the other hand, a maggot
The evening slips into you as you slip into the evening
Black Butterfly, BLACK.
A dried out dog.
The world of lost poems
Not to have fire, to have only water
The decorators are here
My dark father, our dark fathers
Grim houses, dusty streets, the sound of waste
So this God, I mean…
The same skin is not the same skin
Some back-alley in Marseilles