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Tout est noir, noir…

Tout est noir, noir,
Noir, noir, noir, noir,
Noir, noir, noir, noir,
Noir, noir, noir, noir, …
Tiens ! un point gris.
Le paradis ?

2001

This entry was posted on Friday, August 7th, 2009 at 11:55 pm and is filed under 01 - Ontogenèse d'une pupe, Christophe Bousquet, Poèmes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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