Doors

Il vaut mieux- as there was nothing. None knocks at the door, as I don’t knock more A horse doer, escaping from the stable I penetrate a place then dropping from the window Humming – hawing, Rushing, Sighing, -In a far bench I count the stumbling words, trailing the weakened tongue Il vaut mieux- as there will be everything. I come looking for incision to run away The scattered papers, I let go Trying another iron or wooden door I’m crazy about wall’s hole Joyful, Sorrowful, Lustful, Our relation is like railway lines We meet underneath the pressure of changing the course.