Eating Books in Marseille

My Raven

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.

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