Corpus Chant - Benoît Pioulard

If they’re always reticent to believe

There is gasoline on the crest of the hill

What will straining lines of five years deign to leave

As the tissues are broken down & the flame burns the will

Writ in edges, made amends it hums a single note to me

Burrs on clothing & a heat stroke of desiring still

Clear the brush & flora to ascend to plant an apple tree

& what the deer don’t get, the rabbits surely will