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Les Aléas

de François Blot

how my body longs for the cool touch of death
and my mind for the relief it bestowes
on me, unearthly values
spoken aloud sear my flesh
for actions unlawful, a judgement's passed, i know

impenetrable thicket surrounds the path i used to tread
bedelived enchantment, bewandered in the arts
arid wastes, cold, deserted and dead
such, the scenery from which i depart

phrases and faces instead of the spells
that will grand me rest and peace
it's my death i want, nothing else

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