Unpublished pieces

And so without
yes or no
we cry for meaning.

not the frost
from the table
in surrealistic shadows
forgotten in disgrace.

Here we are!
The yellow centre of gravity
does not trap
the focus of the universe.
Shapes enlarge.
People wander.
The zone remains feathered.
Without a chance
you and I
create fantasies.

We live them.
They matter.
One day becomes
as sliced up
as any other.
We push magic,
egos flattered.
And so we gather
pieces of the puzzle
that we can assemble,
in the dark,
without a flashlight.

Headstones proclaim
our atmosphere.
We breathe
yet the sound

does not travel.

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mlevesque's picture

poésie gentille

poésie gentille

Vive le Quebec libre!