Headlights






It was the night for several days, with, on the horizon
The imprecise movements of epitaphs
The efforts of your attention had focused more on what seemed to follow you
Which nature you did not recognize
Your nature, stale, it was
As volatile as the sparse schedules
Which you clung yourself to
Everything had to appear to go for the best
But how to go there you had forgotten
The steps tied themselves up
Only certain of their support on the ground
And the ground sometimes missed
Bad weather
Bad bite in the abdomen
The days no longer raised, it was not worth the trouble
Elbowing your way through the thickness of an endless evening
Then waiting to check if this was where you had to go to
And giving yourself up with in the throat a taste of bringing up too
The car was running
You were the car
Your hazardous thoughts filling the cockpit
You made this trip
Surprised when suddenly
A uniform stopped you
Asking you how in this dark night
Without any headlight turned on
You could see where you went along.





February 2016