Sometimes I open up everything  
(Massy-Essone)

The room that I made more lively
with sea side views and dead butterflies
wasn't build to last.

Here at 6.30 in the morning bicycles and ovens
are being thrown from balconies. Sometimes they
end up in front of my window and remain there until
somebody passes by, usually before first light and picks up
what could be of use to him now that it probably 
doesn't belong to anyone.
Everything often disappears with great discretion.

In the afternoon, with the same care I look down 
at a teapot that stands in a badly chosen corner of the kitchen.
It's not exactly standing. Five sharp pieces holding each other up.
It's been there for weeks belonging to no one.
I have to learn to be less doubtful and remove.

Without a doubt the room is now mine.
I live in it with the plastic wrap that made the windows
non-transparent. Sometimes I open up everything
because I have to learn to sleep with the sound of 
falling objects and bodies that enter each other.