in love with a box.

It doesn’t matter what color

you are
I like you.
Over and over again

when I near you
in muffled voices

I hear them speak
trapped in their paper

I like you.
Every afternoon,

when the bell has
finally killed off the ugly

work hours
and one after the other,

the streets are swallowed

I’ll open you,

lift your rust-freckled
mailbox, my mailbox

oh, what have you got
today for me?














Photo: Jean-Michel HATTON


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