Around ten o’clock in June on Tuesday

Bare-chested on the terrace
hidden from view,
at the garden table on top of Marseille,
around ten o’clock in June on Tuesday,
I write in my orange notebook.
I have thoughts, uncombed hair, a single sock on my foot a little cut by the rocks
Yesterday I threw myself into the sea
barefoot.
I don’t know where this, all this
comes from.
A green plant keeps waving, brushing my ribs.
A week ago, rather ten days,
my plane got struck by lightning.