To Matthieu, my ex French boyfriend



I'm smoking my last
In an empty room
I will watch the past
Seal and shake my doom.

I'm breathing my last
As I crawl under
Under the thunder
Welcoming the blast,

I shall undergo
In an empty room.
And deeper I go
Deeper in the gloom

I'm looking around
Trudging on the ground
I have come to nuke
To repel and puke,

This mild monochrome
Displaying your smile
I will hate your isle
From Sparta to Rome

To grab your image
Your ****** leverage
Going far further
Than before earlier


The road down below
Is dangerous, I fell
Is painful and slow
The road out of hell

Will be bright and pure.
I did **** and mure
Your mild monochrome
And now to my home,

I shall soon return
Far from you lost love
Yes, is gone the dove
Your paper will burn

Ashes, melting fast
Burning monochrome
Blasted monochrome
I'm smoking my last

July 19, 2013
Chambéry, France

A bottle, in the sea, has fallen
Message of mystery
Creased weary paper
Washed by the swell, swollen
Wandering along the water
Wrenched by the waves, misery

Whilst an impetuous wind
Cradles the vial with its washed out blue cap
The bottle reaches its destination
The translucent sand welcomes it with a slap
Washed ashore
It would be hard to read what it once clearly bore…

On the beach, a blond maiden bothers to pick up, sunbathing
The drenched draft with its strewed words
And as she starts reading
Gone is her grinning.
Letters speak to her in a death rattle
Her father blacked out during the battle
Forever. On the creased weary paper the writer
Traced: ‘’Don’t worry, I love you, my darling’’
Her tears now erasing completely so much strength and energy
Gathered to retrace the story …

Of the blond-haired maid
Only a piece of paper remains, it is said.
By the tumultuous tide
Hope reached the other side…

Translated on May,9, 2014

1st place, Jacques Prévert Jeux Floraux du Béarn (French poetry contest), 2008

Beijing’s Child points at the white clouds flying, veils in the somber sky, to the moon under the yielding tree’s red lantern, he is absent-mindedly playing with his brown braids. He pictures himself abroad, by other long shores turning the pages of his dear illustrated book when a fired fish jumps up to the skies clad in its rainbow scales, glistering. Under the yielding tree red lantern

Beijing’s Child rubs the green ginkgo Although the snow, winter’s daughter plucks the feather leaves of her silvery coat....
Was it the wind, messenger of the west that brought the Biloba bird until Ta? Under the yielding tree red lantern

He thinks about it sprouting, seed of the past. The Child whose name means pagoda lives over the gates of the shining sun chanting to the elements songs and lullabies,
Under the yielding tree red lantern.

And when Earth vibrates under the storms when the frightened men rise their damped eyes the child wraps his body with the veil of the stars I hear by the mounts his voice and his augurs. But the tree was cut down and cannot offer its sweet sap anymore the red gleam has faded long ago of the marooned torn by time book only one thing remains, and it is a dream.

Because, at bedtime, as the world is sound asleep the child pours a golden powder to the souls. Stay awake at night because the Child of Beijing will enchant you until your morning!

Written in French in Beijing, October 20, 2011. Translated on May 9, 2014 Lyon, France

To Patrick Süskind, writer of The Perfume,

He leans over her
Admiring the fire of her rebellious hair
Asleep, sweet child
Her body, temple of the most exquisite perfume
Getting drunk on her delight
He tries to **** this about to live madness
Rising up, oh cruel
He plans to lethally hurt her!

Another desire, inside, gushes
For he doesn’t want her to suffer
His lips burning of her, madness!
He’d rather be lenient…

She rolls over, for her he fell
He drops his hammer and her grave
He leans in closer, lover
Her eyes open, he looks at her, charmed

Mouth tight shut, lost inside him
She knows he’s the thief of the night
Three feet away from her eyes
He has to possess her for his tragic project
Lull settles in, she says:
“You’ve come to take my life’’
He smiles, she grabs his hand
And brings him to her red-hued lips

“Laura, I am Jean Baptiste
Senses will be my tomb
I screamed, organic, garbage from the market…
Broken, born almost dead, scattered like schist.’’
“Jean Baptiste, come here’’
“Sweet ******, I’m only sombre ashes
My body only knows the twig
By your perfume only can my heart rise…
No love is that strange.’’
“So I’m yours, divine
Drink my wine to the hilt’’
“Angel, forgive me for what I must do’’

He throws his vest on the ground
Unveiling his skinny self
He is stark naked, she is dreamy.
He lifts the covers, dreading his own gestures
As soon as he’s laying next to her
She softly skims his chapped lips
He answers, babbling
The moon is above them, entangled.

He can’t stop his fingers
On her naked skin wanting him
For no cloth, no silk
Can’t protect her, she isn’t escaping
Her scream in his kiss he takes her
She’s a woman in a blasting fury
On some supple Asian cushions
Her blood slides, fertile, drunk Muse…

He’s already asleep on her hip
He equally adores her curves and her sip
He caresses her white gorgeous chest
Swiftly slays her and,
Lays her down waiting for the blame
Crying, but he has to leave her.

Translated on August 8, 2015

Marble, you no longer move
In their agile and skimpy arms
Under torrents of fire and hail
The majestic sinuous trees
Try to grapple your rose’s stalk
That of your body, inert, alone, morose
Those dark trees standing for the branches of my desire
Roughed up over and over again by a storm of passions

On the subdued soil of time through the wind
Like a veiled corpse living on a divan
Your kisses wither, blank of existence
Perfect bunch of flowers fit for an effigy
A statue erected by our violent patience
A bunch for sure, fit for nothing but a somber elegy
Facing death! A visage turned over to redeem.
Your body, lacking our decors’ agreement pours out

The blood of sacred love, the ideal love of the idea
That you held so close, so near, traced on the thinned out curves
Of my caresses, of my distresses, of my hips
You neither no longer are nor I am but a chanted fallen angel
Without you I can’t be, should I slay the Occident of your name
Of the moving geography of my fleshy map, my Orient
Between us, a mocking distance overhanging and weighting in the chasm
Of this Ocean shaped abyss, Mayday my soul! No!

Your absence is my grave, despite it being decked with flowers
What sort of beauty one should expect from a perfumed essence-less flower?

Translated on November 4, 2015

I’m on California 101
The highway
Taking you away
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

I fire the only firearm
That disarms you
My denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101

Blue as the sky of my vice
Hip-hugs my skin we drive
The Pacific and its yellow lines unwind
As slowly as the wind
We drive 101’s log jam
Listening to Pearl Jam

I’m Bonnie, my guy’s Clyde
And I gotta tell Elvis
The weather here is a bliss
Elvis, did you wear that hip-hugging Levi’s ?
My road trip essential nice vice?

We drive, high gear overdrive
To San Diego’s beaches and lagoon
To Los Angeles, you funny gowned goon
To San Francisco, everything there is eclectic
California, your State’s electricity is static

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

Road trippin’ with my denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West

We’re on Pacific Coast
Highway we followed along the Coast
To the Bay Bridge and the port
Of San Francisco, maritime city
An exceptional city that rules
Exception to the rule
We go country in the Bald Eagle’s county

“One-o-one’’
One no one
One, oh one

Get your denim by Levi’s
501
On California 101
Are you lost ?
We say 101 at most
In the American West!

May 1, 2015
University of California, Riverside.

Despite the years, I still remember
The fruit of my desire I could not slay
Her delicious flesh, the reason of my vice
Her exquisite perfume, amidst some irirses.

Our nighttimes garden was her palace
Clad in her autumnal ablaze dress
An empress. I myself was her minion
In  an awful convulsion… I kissed her

Soon biting her, tearing her skin, my beauty
Avidly and ruthlessly I drained her
Screaming her name, mutinous, “Clementine!’’

As the star shot across the sky, I was long gone
And she fell, under the veil of a sad evening
A crow clawed at her then, in his mansion.


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne