Pointilism Poem by Pierre Rausch

Forgive me, forgive me
A quarter closer to that break
Forgive me, forgive me
A briefcase no more
Fainted to the stick
Held between them
What happened
Sometimes I can't respond
Now it's to others for exactly this
Pointilism that can be dated.
Recreated as art, if you see
The point in the face
The face in the point
And in galaxies apart
The universe alltogether
As Pointilism and tenderness
A censorship to distance
When I tell you
That I tell you
What I tell
I tell you
(Just) What I tell you
Just in case you know