One snake stands in the eyes of the duckling rocked in a light lap that one bulrush closes. "Iíll know who you are one day", the feathered one says to the scaly one. There are only the socks that were not put in a sorry state. Socks come from government. How shall we enlighten this wet mystery? Itís no counting pillows that are genuine sponges. The drawer already slipped under the bed of the unknown one. Cheerfulness of chamberpot.

     On the map, the coast topples deeply on a territory delimited by four arrows of which none was never directly mentioned in any death. Thick of east, thick of north shelter coves. Thick of west, thick of south crosses the edge of birches and privets to be cut down. Work is hard but we must fill our bag. Branches can melt the snow of partridges. The lungs burn us. My bark is a bad bag. Limp of tabernacle.

     The game skins with this bad edge. I donít really manage to make good the blade. The teeth scratch each fillet. My stomach is blinding in front of the fowl on the board under the cypress. The improvement, with the effort and the concentration and the will, escapes me. The evening comes with the father. Late in the day made the following day. Do I owe the ancestral submission? Ignorance of cycle.

(July 17, 2005)

Note: Only the drawing and the first sentence donít concern my dreams of the day. The different "thick" were in English language in my dream

© IDDN 2005

My original poem