your mother told me

'let your tongue stay dull; you can say more with sharp blades'

your mother rode a motorbike 'til she had you and now you come by

your skinny stringy dancer's body with a broken leg and an umbrella for a crutch

i could carry you home

i could carry you up to the sun

with small hard arms

but what will the world do

while we're gone

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

hosted by DiaryLand.com