We get used to writings leaning Poem by Marie de Quatrebarbes

We get used to writings leaning where there are no longer children, now that they've grown up and their eyes recede into their faces

you talk of an image with corkscrewed socks

the piece of earthenware has no crease, the body is that of previous stages, with a laugh that was the sound she produced

there is the scandal of a possession, the shock invited to my table; then another part begins

we're taking care of the skeleton, dear

I am no longer the one I was when I was the child of a single time

the circle of chairs, matching, empty, on which the program sits nothing down, recreates the disappearance where we play the leading roles