Go back

Selected Letters
Zasterle Press, 1992

Proust

forced always to be next to the wall, letters
before the phone call in the story
which is not a sign, whatever you may think
I mean, the talk at the table rising to such a pitch
one only has one's room, nothing to read
the bed turned the other way
(by mistake) on the train
in a less beautiful spot reminds me to work
at breathing, at all one could hear in the distance
of what may have slipped through my pocket
as soon as I finish talking
about the calm, not having slept much
which is not always the case the night before
the sentence left at the border