nothing sinks (however) night is passing
to dive head first into reality
such a compatible writing, its inks
i'm dispersed/multiple savour of lucidities

(bec.) the only reality
in body the (fiction) or this time
the mental space of the word women in ink
calls forth the unrecorded from myths and torment
turning point of the imaginary of forms of comfort

i thought in profile and face to face
that nothing could put an end
to this skin of origin we know
splendidly in our territories
that this battle skin
knife undertow _______________ eyes
that break up and bind turn amatory
phrases that address (letters)
women whose curves scintillate

(crisis) for me linked to words
(machine for divining symbols)
to the softness of lips, of eaux-de-vie
in the angle of neurological drifts

because cities are circuses of dream
about which we think
since..........the obliqueness of fogs
in this expression we are speaking
integral, in the fog of avalanches
my woman, so that no cliche
separates us


~nicole brossard