On the teacher’s blackboard, nothing is impossible,
In front of gaping eyes, I’m writing the word ‘writing’,
I’m wiping the word ‘wiping’…
I’m wiping the word ‘writing’, writing the word ‘wiping’.
The blackboard is the Field of Great Confusion
Objects and signs.
In this rectangle, the teacher plunges his hands
In the matrix of the worlds and pops out
A sword, an ant,
A star, a friend.
This is the reason why a being un-navel-ed too soon
Will find there a possibility to dive back in uterine warmth
And complete the truncated maturity process.
The same being, on the other side,
Whose wild seabeds have too long bathed
Will do without teachers’ patch-up jobs,
For such a sizzling being,
it will already know too late.
Franck Joseph – ©FJ April 2021
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Notes & Silence 