Entering survival mode.

Feed upon your remaining heart.
Attention:
use leftovers parsimoniously.

Take that one everlasting memory.

Stage a friend, a dearest one.

Plunge into poetry.

Take a deep breath.

Remember all the words
in a myriad of fairy worlds.

Acknowledge:
nothing left to say.

Acknowledge:
no one in the distance.

Exit survival mode.

iced finger tips
wrapped in hands'
warmness

stired, not shaked, leaning

salty neck line
light aroma of hey
freshness of ruby cherry silk

gaspillage
of entwined drive

flambé

Je me baladais
hasardeuse
et soudain
dans la vitre
je ne l'ai pas reconnue.

Qu'il m'a fait mal
de voir ses yeux cernés,
ses gestes suspendus
par une hésitation mortelle.

Un mot à elle
suffirait à allumer
des orages,
son rire
à éclabousser les murs,
l'étendre de ses mains
à changer les routes.

Pourquoi
elle tait sa voix
et tâtonne, sombre,
l'ombre de soi-même?

Ne se méconnaît-elle pas,
en se regardant
dans cette vitre?

~~~
The stranger

I was walking
haphazardly
and, all of a sudden,
on the window glass,
I did not recognize her.

How painfull it was
to see the dark circles in her eyes,
her gesture held
by a deadly hesitance.

A word from her
would light up storms,
her laughter
would make walls crumble,
a movement of her hands
would change all the roads.

Why does she silent
her voice
and gropes, groomy,
her own shadow?

Can she be unknown to herself,
looking at herself
in this window glass?

[a poem on poetry and on writing; dedicated to af]*

Sometimes,
a noisy silence,
like hunger,
fulfills me.

Those times,
I seat in a porch,
in the bluish mist of dawn
or in the rust of falling skies,

and I wander,
looking at thousands of words
floating in my porch,
dancing in a slight breeze,
like a thousand glassy hummingbirds.

Charmed,
I pick one
and another
and suddenly
in a swirl
an all flock
gathers
and its brilliance
draws what
I do not know.

Strange realms
rise
as the swirl of wings
fades away.
I enter these new worlds
and
I see.

First,
i broke my legs,
seemed you wouldn't stand
me being on my feet.

Then,
i abandoned my hands,
all my dids had fawls,
you pointed it out.

My voice wrinkled
as hoarsely you wanted
me quiet.

Finally,
i slipped my zipper
and let go of my will.

The day that bird
crossed my estrangement,
i took the golden azureous (")
of its passing by
and gave birth to myself.

Trying out my wings,
you now gaze at me
and still your blindness
will not allow you to see.

To love is a clarity,
a insight,
an offer of sanctuary
to our lover.

Would you know it...?

The wind claims my wings.
Irisdescence
composes my chant
and my chant summons life.

And i leave.

You can hear me, can't you?
can't you
I want you to be like this. See?
see
No, you do not want that.
that
Who am I? Who am I?
i
You'll never get there, never!
never
Just be quiet, really!
really
You're such a mess. You'll never be loved!
*loved

Yep,
that's me,
all right.

Carving
my heart:
Do remember.
Do not trust.
Do not hand it.
Erase it.
Let it go.
Never mind.

Then -
whenever it gets to be -
it's like
after a bad night sleep:
everything just got
under a darkner
shade of grey.

Yep.
Pain killer.
Like in
life choker.