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2004-02-28 | |
the colors changed.
a language you donâ€™t know.
he knows the line
but the prompter chocked with a pointed bone,
and is agonizing in his dirty fosse.
the audience sleeps
and dreams of Shakespeare.
between the acts, before the final gong,
commedia dellâ€™arte coiffed and powdered its tangled wig.
he is looking for earrings among the gleamy crinolines.
crawling on the stageâ€™s parquet.
dark luster of the actorsâ€™ shoes.
sandals, boots, paws, hoofs and claws.
you and the red fauteuil.
seeing the colors.
counting for him: rubber, leather, hair, stone.
the play is over.
felts on the starâ€™s shoulders.
no applauses, no ovations.
no final replica.
just a timid bis.
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