written by Alain Farah
transl. by Gabriel Kunst
The pomegrenade is my favourite food. By adding Salt, we achieve hair. Depending on the era, memory remembers.
The totals’ dwelling, a plant in my face.
The onion knows the origin of its head and of evil. Eve spells out the relaxed vegetable, made into a salad.
Chip green on a tabula rasa: to swell in advance.