Knock Knock Knocking at my door
My imagination and nothin’ more
Ring Ring Ring Ringing the bell
For my neighbors upstairs and nothin’ more
Knock Knock Knocking at my door?
No. It’s my neighbor’s children
jumping on the got dammed floor
and nothing more
Ring Ring Ring my bell
The mailman “Mercie Madame for opening the door”
and nothin’ more
Rap Rap Raping at my door
the Mistral Wind
and nothing more.
The year is 2000. My hungry as hell year.
A Poetry Library at la Vieille Charite-Le Panier Marseille France
Here I read fast as I can. I don’t know why I rush about. Time has no meaning for me here. But as fast as I can I read. I don’t know him but the book is thin and the type is dark and the words are short. I look for his name, for I have put it back. What was his name. Wait a minute…I have to find him…W…W I remember it started with a W. Here he is. Wieners, John Wieners. Then Poe. The Raven…I felt like a Twilight Zone episode Isaw.