The earth turns, yes, that's for sure. Since the first turn of the first day. Without a qualm. In the infernal cycle of absolute indifference. Things bloom and perish everywhere at breakneck speed, with great fanfare or in secret. Each day destroys the previous one with a single scorch of sunlight. And the nights cleanse the "walls of shame soaked in blood." Everything seems ready for The Hangover. But on "a beach of Mediterranean dreams, kids dive, play, and frolic." Spin the merry-go-round! Life is there, weaving its way between the poems for a resurrection. Henri Estèbe: "I have disrupted the unity of time, which no longer counts. In the great upheaval of life, I play with the hours like a child."







