12 janvier
comme un étau, le temps fuit,
se désaltère, s’accroche à l’étouffée
tout autour, attirance immodérée
s’agitant au gré du vent,
percutant à tout venant
toutefois, j’irai choir indubitablement
mots dans ma tête, blessée d’avance
leftovers/ leftlovers
(I think the poem above, by friend Io, could also be titled derrière la porte... but so could the photograph she sends with. Here you see a little of her reflected back from mirror she's hung in the neck opening of Vermont tee-shirt last seen in September hanging on the back of a door.. It's loony, n'est-ce pas?
Here's a Google instant translation of the poem:
January 12
like a vise, time flies, quenches, clings to the muffled all around, immoderate attraction moving with the wind, hard-hitting to everyone however, I will undoubtedly fall words in my head, hurt in advance leftovers / leftlovers
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