We’ll meat again, in the mazze’s of my mind…

The mind’s mazzes are a story to hum. Tales of blue sky tainted by dusky thoughts.
I’m sitting on a bench, people passing by, black coats and slapping shiny shoes dashing through the wather puddles.

It’s you and me for a while, wandering through the mazzes of my mind. It’s you and me going away for a while; there there are quiet counteralleys for silent words.
There whater puddles reflect a face I can recognize

and you vanish again as an old man asks me for some change. I’m back on my bench, watshing black coats as they rush by, ignorant of my existance.
I bend over the whater puddle, a stranger looks back at me.
And I m affraid, traveling back from my world to one I don’t want to know… at least not for now.

I grab my hat and smile…I wish I were daydreaming, again.

Ces petits rien

Ce sont ces petits rien qui me venaient de tout…
quand les ombres du passé viennent errer a nos coté et qu’on leur jette des maqueraux au vins blanc.
quand le futur viens toquer a la porte et qu on lui brandit sa choppe.
Assis à la fenêtre je ne vois pas passer les manteaux noir mais je repond aux reflets qui ricochent sur les flaques en contrebas.
Ce sont ces petits riens qui me viennent de tout et sur lesquels j ecrit de peur de les oublier.