Fruits lodged in my kneecap hurt like torpedoes. The very reason I never drink my tuberculosis straight from the chalice of amputees. As barbaric as the most sincere hug, the star-studded velcro of my nightgown becomes ironic for not having been ironed during the last ice age. Big deal for a small referendum! In return, the flock of eavesdroppers will throw themselves down a cliff with Richard. There’s enough charcoal for everyone. No need to gallop like yet another quickly fading trend set by a surrogate mother chanting “Too much dill in my oesophagus, get the devil out of my funeral home.” It’s rather creepy yet so jolly at the same time. Are we at the dawn of a watermelon panic? Then lure the wrestler out of his jug, my friends, for the stapler is only the appetiser.
Flock of eavesdroppers
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Flock of eavesdroppers
Fruits lodged in my kneecap hurt like torpedoes. The very reason I never drink my tuberculosis straight from the chalice of amputees. As barbaric as the most sincere hug, the star-studded velcro of my nightgown becomes ironic for not having been ironed during the last ice age. Big deal for a small referendum! In return,…
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Trio Malgache
La réverbération de cette musique métallique entre les genres, est aussi jouissive que la montée des marches qui mènent en haut des tubes à essai enchevêtrés parmi les joncs, comme des colonnades convulsives qui se répètent à l’infini. Le vent en poupe, c’est une paraplégie de l’observation auditive qui, tel un intrus pénétrant du regard…
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Si le soleil meurt
Si le soleil meurt, j’irai planter des pins devant la porte qui s’ouvre sur le passé et ses troupeaux de brebis aux tétines séchées par la canicule. L’homme de glace viendra honteusement s’établir entre les fontaines de sel et rendra aride sa propre ombre en faisant pleurer les mouettes rieuses. Si le soleil meurt, je…