Sweet urban depression

I like to let the feverish ink of my soul

to lose oneself in a season of depression

born from nowhere ...

A city in a failed spider web .

Noir novel without a corpse .

At the last page ,fatal coincidence ...

Shape of a nasty trick 

that a morbid illusionnist 

would have played in the mystery

of wireless telephony ...

We take away the remnants of intimacy

that has become lunar waste...

The damp secretions of mumies

speak to me in all silence of Babel.

orgasm of public embraces 

teaching me new autistic vocabulary ...

I hear this voice telling me : 

" Join the world of children who never grew up ! ''

I want to escape this  damn' watch

that chimes in the croc's belly ! 

 Wendy are you still waiting for me ? 

I would never have given up .

My tender solitude ,

taking my inspired depression in its hand,

offering me the poisoned fruit of its lips,

and whispering so softly :

 ''I love  you ! "