getippt  von Etienne Paon

a duly hardened punch
fat violets all over fooling
childhood’s triumphant sulkiness
one printed photograph i guess
words stuck still
shame, affinity
and warmth and care
and way too many kind-ofs fiddling
remains of tan
a fading scar (bulb next to your bed)
rags in a cellar
pulp and drowning
tigers colorful, thai cotton
and then
a sudden longing for a voice
that voice
again to bless
what can’t be blessed again.

(Micha: Oh my.)
(Pfob: He breaks quite often, lately.)
(Micha: Hm. Who wrote, poetry is the love of failing?)
(Pfob: Sartre. Let’s go home.)
(Micha: To better live?)
(Pfob: To fail again.)