It is not only the big socks that pulls my socks off, it is also the little cold words, dropped at the last moment, the little abandons, little things, little things like that.
We will tiptoe around the truth to avoid disturbing it, we will close our eyes above all, so as not to see the rest, silence is almost better, no one needs to know everything, the the unconscious exists for a reason.
I will find you beyond the (white) walls the stalls, it must be the blue of the sky or I can sniff the sea like a smart dog
Certainly you dance between the donkey and the jeweler and the high perched baskets filled with barley and wheat Like a new beginning of the daily history Answering the call.
Curl up silently
in a corner of the living room then recover from one's rubble straighten one's pants and shake off the crumbs left on the front realising one's scars in the evening