The small pains

 

The small pains

Ah pain the navel

And migraine misery

Very volatile Scriptas

In liberty lasts

On the shelf I wander

Medicines offered

 

To the so subtle reflections

In deleterious steams

Of the outrageous chatter

Toward my jail transfer

My pains free themselves

I have too much suffered so much

 

Thanks to the juice of barrel

Rimbaud-Apollinaire

Sharpened tools

To become some of verse

I will be your muse-mother

If you my poet-glass

 

Broker in its curtail

In the urn green bulletin

Blue-sky colour parsley

But as muzzle

Barbed sons of iron

There is our universe

 

Plural in exile

Libertarian lover

Olfactory your slagheap

In his/her/its magic operates

Adieu world torturer

If so much concentrationnary

 

Ah pain the navel

And migraine misery

Very volatile Scriptas

In liberty losts

On the shelf I wander

Médicines offered