Gazelle qui se rougisse...


achieving such variance
that things only make sense
on time
so mirrored they are
in faked actings of self-defence
bloody hands
the cold against warmth
of this glass surfaces
specular in their shining
above some absorbtion collectors
of light
the sublteness of the waving
rithms permeating this thicker air
now conducted by some awareness
as on the street you woke up
for the bus
(with) some delay in your legs
that seams to be
on time

achieving such variance
that things only make sense

on time

on your own
not so alone

hoe rod is rod,

als roet?

then you're offered a smile
by unknown glance
at a foreigns dream
also packed to somewhere else
revealing that chain
broken already

already ready
steady
through the
purple melody
of time

ecoute là
cette rouge
vois là
cette bleu

of your own
wide tone