when the battered angel

falls from a chemical paradise,

he lands at the foot of my bed



& *takes off his wings

words spill out of your mouth
like bouquets of the most
wild flowers…

& yet you stand before me
with your hands stretched
reaching out…

you want me to be delighted
by this gift of  earthly
laughter?

no, for flowers & anything
else you could find the
words for…

will one day perish
will one day wilt away
in quiet way…

despite,

despite, it all.

the icy winter air wraps herself around us
as we linger outside, smoking your Camels,
& there’s a relief in the tension when we’re alone.



here, I like you best ‘cause you don’t care.
here you like me best ‘cause no one has to know.
I take a last long drag  & turn to go inside.

but you grab my hand  & suddenly
all of the unsaid becomes physical…
& my heart jumps, only to be thrown

to the ground, sooner or later
when you close back up.
probably tomorrow,

probably when i need you most
I hate you.
but most of all,

I love you.

In the morning, your hands always shake as you take the spoon to stir your instant coffee. You look down at the sink and I can see that you’re somewhere far away from me in this room.  It’s funny how close of an eye you keep on the clock, as if you’re waiting for a certain hour that’ll be the savior of you. That hour never strikes and you are always turning your watch incessantly.

In bed, when you roll over and face the wall, my own stomach fills up with a sort of self-disgust so repulsive that I’m really not sure how I managed to swallow it in the first place. You keep your distance and I’m forever trying to bridge the gap. I’ll never get there; I’ll never get to you because my glory is wasted on you.  And I only ever feel like a fool for contenting myself to feast on disappointment every time I see you.  

But I come back because I’ve got my issues too.  All the others, I can’t even give the time of day because I learned as a child, that love is conditional and that when it disappears, it always comes back stronger no matter how ephemeral. I’ve been addicted to these sparks my entire life.

Sure, I could say that there is something between us but your love (or whatever the hell it is that you’re feeling), dies the second your feet hit the floorboards at the foot of your bed.  You feed me scraps and I’m always starving for more.  

            You check the clock once again and then you look me in the eyes and tell me that it’s time to go. I gather my things, kiss you on the mouth and step out in to the world, carrying you and your disease in my rib cage like a contagious cancer.

I push on my vein & watch the spot

I think I’m looking in the wrong direction.

Pressure grows & I can’t see anything happen.

It’s gotta be brewing, beneath my surface.

If I hold down long enough, do you think

I would burst?

Maybe.



*I don’t think that I will.

I have to say I like these hours of morning best,

When the sunlight pours in the cracks of

the open window beside your open bed,

When you’re still lost in the lands of dreams…

There’s a faint happiness in your face,

Eyes closed, you have escaped awareness,

Which I consider your biggest burden,

& I’m happy to see you relieved of this

-

Sure enough, given enough dawn light

you’ll return to your familiar scenes,

Wake up to put on the clothes you wear,

like armor, like a shield to make you stable

-

You don’t have to be like that with me,

I’ll take you the way you are, preferring

the vulnerability & hope in your nakedness,

In my own dreams, I hope to see yours

-

I have to say I like these hours of morning best,

When you slip in & out of the here & now

I’ll rub the sleep from your sullen eyes,

I’ll put my kisses & hands on your body

-

Hoping to keep you in only the places,

Just the spaces, where you can be free.

this    slippery little nonsense

of      mericurial indefinition

is      tracking breaths

&       counting actions muted

-

So     rub some all over

your   deepest wounds

&       watch the scars

start    to fade to nothing

-

Your sweaty palms

are hardly a match

for it’s a gusting force

so let go & just follow

he wondered why her eyes were empty
whenever he was inside of her

she replied,

“when you’re making love to me,
are you praying to the gods

or are you just feasting?”

he knew for certain then,
that he was merely mortal

There’s a new sort of current that runs through his body,
an electric sort of freedom freshly granted, just weeks ago.

Once, he wrapped up the neurosis, folding with great care.
Firmly closed the heavy parcel & then bidding farewell,

he exhaled the parasitic cancers that only ever sought
to eat him alive & made such honest efforts to survive.

quite ironic: that necrosis dying upon a funeral pyre
& then he cut his hair & never felt lighter

Like he could fly
& he did.

*(high above the ceremonial smoke)

Mes mains : ses minuscules trous, par lesquels tout passe à travers,

les anciens déchets oubliés se ramassent autour de mes pieds,

et montrent les plus belles cendres d’une fablière ratée

-

sous la mer, à des milliers de pas, parmi des feus brûlants noyés

cette langue (jamais entendue) me ramène très **** du moment donné,

entre-temps, l’anti-temps et ses camarades se réveillent battus et épuisés

-

la ligne droite vient de s’exprimer en courbes,

faut se plier en deux, en trois, même en quatre

pour aller jusqu’au bout du monde encore

-

puis, le retour.

-

l’horloge sonne.

l’air pèse une tonne
-
english translation

*Tiny holes in my hands,  through which everything slips

the former, forgotten waste collects around my feet,

showcasing the breathtaking ashes of a failed storyteller

-

under the sea, at a thousand paces, among the burning, drowned fires

a stranger’s unknown word takes me to places far from this instant,

Whilst Anti-time et his mates awake battered & dead on their feet

-

the straightest line sings its song in curves,

bend yourself in two, in three, even four

to reach the end of the world once more

-

& then, the return.
-

the clock strikes

the air is thick as hell.

the things i feel & mostly what i think
about every face i see when walking home
at 5 am, at 5 pm, when the sun is grudgingly
coming to terms with the night,
they are ephemeral & strong
entering like belligerent intruders,
& even if i always leave my door open
words & images filter in through the window

the cracks in the cement speak to
the cracks of my mind & the sound of a man
yelling at someone else on the phone far away
brings the sound of trumpets to my mind
i have no way of conveying this to you
or to anyone i may exchange words with.
words, in any tongue, offer no justice
to the things of this life & my perceptions

for i am made up of a thousand different things
endless comings & goings of happenings
& circumstance. the memories alone could fill
volumes, but it is not of any significance
like i had once, rather naively, dreamt.
this life, marked by a series of omens is
mine & mine alone to *****
i hold the present loosely in my palm

in the faces of others, that fade in & out
i see myself & every other man who has
walked this earth alone & in the company
of other strangers. they reappear untouched
by the passage of time. just as my being
seems to go on regardless of the slow rot
that is this lonely communal  life.

at first, i kept my distance, for fear that
you might burn down this secret garden
of myself, timidly opened up to a slash & burn
of the field where others had all planted seeds
& where many things had lived & died before
then when i thought i knew you, i hoped that
you could get wild flowers growing along
the endless edges of my blooming mind

as with all things, the signs & symbols
spoke to me in an incomprehensible poetry
& it’s only just now that i come to realize
your incompetence is not yours alone
but that of us all, who understand
that to be alive is to inhale the sharp beauty
that wears the clothes of stimulation & death.
these human ashes will feed the greenery to come

i nod my head & acknowledge that this is what
it is & what it shall always be, release my grip
& shall merely go along for the ride

i want you to tell me why
when all has been said & done
you’ve said nothing at all

the song on the radio
takes me back to places
i haven’t been to for a while

my heart skips a beat

it’s not that i want to return,
only that i’m happy to be
composed of places like that

one day, when i’m a woman
& more than an angry girl
i’ll let one of them love me
as i suspect they could

but now i am too busy
trying to put black
butterflies in black bags
& wasting all my time

trying to swallow them whole

des espoirs,

toujours nombreux,

dans sa tête,


des regards,

souvent curieux,

dans ses yeux,



des clopes,

toujours une,

à sa bouche,



des verres,

toujours vidés,

dans sa gorge,



des angoisses,

toujours présents,

dans son cœur,



des papillons

parfois volants,

dans son ventre,


des pensées,

souvent gonflées,

à son sexe,


des mains,

jamais ses propres,

sur ses cuisses,



des trémoussements,

toujours violents

au niveau de ses genoux



de la danse,

toujours frappant,

prend ses pieds



la guerre prend lieu

sans approbation

dans son corps



des tensions,

et la détente

en bataille éternelle

beneath the stillness of my ocean,

there are currents overwhelming,

& it’s a gentle, persisent undertow

-

they pull me down.

-

I can not tell, at times,

when the sea only whispers,

those waves of wonder,

I am all smiles on my vessel.

-

but lo! at times, I remove my hat,

And without, I can see reflections,

(refractions too!)

of the sunlight, illuminating,

the trenches & dark spots,

the layers I seek not to swim,

-

it is there, where I search for a map,

but there is no map, or guide of sorts,

my ocean remains ever unknown

it is there, where I float alone

-

they pull me down.

-

what is the worst; to know not

your ship or self?

I do not see either…

I can only see the reflections

-

that truth is drowning me….

-

I have made my boat bright,

intertwining daises freckle

the sides, but it is not me

-

& true! the piece will work

but for how long?

-

I fear I have not made it strong.

-

still, I shall sit in it. it carries

me well…

I have made seat enough for two

took the time to fill them up

no! my boat is full…

-

I must make for you, a space!

have my seat here…

me, I shall lay on the floor!

-



yes, I like it better here…

I can see only the sky…

& for miles & miles, I will

dream of, one day, sharing this view

-

& we won’t have to tell at times,

what the undertows are murmuring

-

I will not listen;

I will not let them pull me down

i want to give you what lies inside

of me : a raw, dying hell cry

seeks its way to the Light



call it forth with a glance,

coax it with the force of your hand

submit myself to your whims



lay me down in the coldest cold

extract all of the dancing demons

that haunt this carbon frame



only in the most violent caress

can you set fire to the pulverized

ruins & rubble that cage me

my friends & their worries,

they carry them like back-sacks,

from town to town,

checking in & checking out

where they know not

the faces of the inn-keepers

-

but they stay nonetheless,

taking shelter is a stranger’s world.

in a stranger’s word, the safe place

to lay down the heavy things

to which they have never given names,

with which they turn their bones to powder

-

my friends & their worries,

my friends & their woes,

my friends who go places no one will ever know

& then we are cleansed of all.

there remains no sticky mess

of interwined reasonings,

tracing the sense of everything



we feel for once & conclude

this is the best way, to see

where were we headed before?

it had no truthful meaning.



what we pushed & tugged at,

for what vanity to claim purpose,

the understanding was opaque

at best, clarity poorly skewed



where would I turn to face

myself? flourscent knowledge

makes it much too sore

for my perceptive orbs.



who taxes & pays theirself?

coming full circle too little,

too often, to seek & find

the deepest of wells leaking



would you say the key                            

has amorphous qualities?

but usually illuminations where

the warmth is underlined.



& then all we are is cleansed,

existence becomes slick,

frictions ceases to irriate,

tracing the sense of everything

enlève ta peau & viens avec moi à la lune.
réveillons tout ce qui dort dans nos squelettes,

montre-moi ce qui te regarde dans le miroir,
& puis raconte-moi qu’ils te chuchotent,

as-tu peur du noir comme moi?
te caches-tu dans l’ombre comme moi?

sais-tu qu’un jour, on sortira d’ici?

english translation
take off your skin & come with me to the moon
we'll wake up all that sleeps in our skeletons

show me what looks back at you in the mirror
& then, tell me what they whisper to you

are you afraid of the dark like me?
do you hide in the shadows(the shade) like me?

do you know that, one day, we'll get out of here?

a garden of earthly bodies & their trapings,

sweat left, spilling hours of embraces,

left here to outline an endless path of dust,

only for, someday, a new Phoenix to retrace




a graveyard of long dead movements,

the ones i can’t ever seem to recall,

save a pull, a push, & a quiet going under,

i choke on the depth of their empty faces


float at the bottom, swallow the current,

lungs bloated by the poison of the hour,

the dancing game of mirrors comes to a halt,

they filter out one by one for me to cower

  

the moment emptied, i resurface only to wade

but the proof remains



& my bed is no longer made.

heavens’ whisper, i fall to my knees
& collapse in the ephemeral weight

following the curve of your spine
until it becomes the small of your back

& fall further further further
ever further.

the air is thick as morning arrives,
my mind dances somwhere in the sky

oh, how splendid it is to be mortal
& to feast on the nectar of gods

you & your small eyes
that peak & glance & glimmer
most, in the moment when
I undress & let you feast upon

the things that sleep inside.

you come & go leaving behind
marks & traces of a fiery
consumption: always satisified but
consistently craving more

in my hand, you feed upon the
meager scraps of the last
two decades’ harvest & you
swallow the crumbs whole…

as if you were tasting for the first time
as if you were going to eat to your full.

always most eager, your tongue,
searches mine & the body of many others
saveuring the reciprocal break-fast
& satisfying your appetite for the sacred

*with petite pieces of the profane

There has always been twisted little

Things we never spoke of

Until I uttered the words…

“They’re beautiful, why hide away?”

-

& when we lost our senses,

We articulated the abstract,

& for the hours that followed,

I was caught up in the rapture

Of subliminal hope &

You stood by my side

-

When the time came to part,

I saw the tiny fragments

Give way to our largest mistakes,

& we were lost in loneliness again,

We pretended not to search, there,

Blinded by the pride we boxed,

-

& I knew, all too well,

That we let our heads erase,

The path that made our way,

But still I can see a little,

Sparkle of the refuge light,

Tracing our entrapment,

-

& I look forward to chasing

It, with or without you…

Just know that, I would

Rather have you here

heliocentric; life abound & abundant too

it stretches far beond its reaches

who dared to say that light could not

exist in the trenches of “empty” frontiers?

-

it was not I, nor so the sun…

it is those; who can only absorb, who

can not reflect ( or at the very least

refract…)

-

heliocentric; I am, as well as utterly

transparent. & when you are blinded

by the inverse; I will cast shadows

where there once were none

-

& in the brand new silhouettes;

I hope you will see the outlines

of what has always been,

of what will continue to be

-

you shall not be alone

you shall not remain unknown

she, without teeth, only little remainders,

hard up against the Jacuzzi outside,

took what she wanted & danced before them all

before, she -mostly being repressed,

contained, if you will.



the memories, pure trash, summers’ parties

with the most beautiful carelessness,

submerged herself in a divine liquor,

a charming firefly floats about the room

spitting venom if you will.





that boy, the nameless older one,

of little importance, only a spongy vessel

to which she could transfer her overgrowth

under effects, she set herself free,

a glorious arson if you will



in the morning, amongst the laughter

& living a sobriety all too familiar,

she wondered who saw her core,

& if they wanted to see more?

curious, if you will

taste, swallow, bring it back up,
stomach remains empty & you
still feel light. ***** but somehow
satisfied to have cheated the moment
& your weakness for a split second

this provokes a rapid heartbeat &
a nonchalant shame that you couldn’t
explain to anyone, ever, even if the
scars on your knuckles already
speak volumes of what you are

& she spits out fire & you know
this dance has been going on for
far too long yet the song never ends
& she keeps cutting in when you’ve
only just begun making introductions

sitting in the back of your thoughts,
making faces like she’s got a pocket
full of immortality elixir when you
know she’s only selling deathly ****.
(stuff that goes down too smoothly)

but you’ll taste some of that too
& empty out your insides once more.
as you do,
as you do.

à 3h du matin, en double milieu,
mi-chemin entre le jour & la nuit

mais tes mains sont déjà sur moi
& nous ne sommes qu’au vestiaire
qu’est-ce que t’es chaude ce soir

descendons au tréfonds du terrier
allez, on va prendre un verre,
allez, on va s’égarer un peu,

dans le flou, parmi toutes ces créatures,
qui n’ont jamais connu ce soif inassouvi
celui qui brûle & pousse & crie à haute voix

ça me plait comment tu danses,
comment tu te relâches & comment
tu laisses la musique t’avaler entière

un peu comme ces mains cherchent
à me faire là, pressées à trouver
des miettes de sentiments bien faux

allez, on va aller aux toilettes,
pour discuter tout ce que tu veux,
& rejoindre la fameuse Dame Blanche

puis, on va aller danser sur la piste
où je te montrerai ce corps fragile
& tout dont il est capable à détruire

ce morceau est hypnotique, autant qu’un poème,
mes hanches te crachent le message,

celui que tu n’entends pas de toute façon

allez, viens on va fumer à l’étage mais
tu parles trop vite cherchant à fouiller ta chair,
un vide-grenier nocturne de ton esprit

les trémoussements de tes mains solides,
font une résistance contre l’aube, disant
genre, je m’en fou, c’est juste que…



je te veux

english translation

3 am, in double milieu,
halfway between day & night

but your hands are already on me
& we’re only just now checking our coats
you’re clearly feeling hot tonight

reaching the depths of the rabbit’s hole
“come, let’s go get a drink”
“come, let’s go lose ourselves a bit”

in the crowd, amongst all these creatures
who’ve never known this never-ending thirst
the one that burns, pushes & cries aloud

i like it how you dance
how you release yourself & how
you let the music swallow you whole

a bit like those hands are looking
to do to me, hurried to find
crumbles of terribly false feelings

"come, let’s go to the bathroom”
& talk about anything you’d like
& meet up with Snow white

then, let’s go dance on the floor
where I’ll show you this delicate body
& everything it’s capable of destroying

this song is hypnotic, as much as a poem,
my hips spit to you the message
the one you don’t hear anyways

“come, let’s go smoke upstairs” but
you’re talking too fast, trying to dig up your skin
a nocturnal emptying out of your spirit

the fidgeting of your strong hands
creates a resistance against dawn, saying,
something like, *“I don’t give a ****, it’s just that..”

“I want you”

father ****** your sister,
as it goes, as it always goes
and mom is out running errands,
spending that hard earned dollar
on white bread & fruit juice
that’ll just go bad in the cupboard

yellow tv static fills the room
& you’ve always hated those
glasses of milk, half-empty
lying about the house
like they were occupying
a foreign country at war

jack is in the shower,
touching himself, crying
‘cause no one ever holds him
or told him it was okay to do that
this **** will stick with him
for decades, at the least

tuesday night, mid-summer
your best friend is on line,
******* about that new pair
of jeans, the ones that ripped
right open, just yesterday
when she tripped & fell


the neighbor is whining to his mistress
something about his lonely wife
meanwhile she’s somewhere else,
cashing his checks,going to
buy herself something pretty
just to make herself feel right


*& you, glued to the couch
watching the wall, praying
for telekinesis, hoping that
if you stare long enough,
it might give way & let
you out of this box

your skin is so young

almost like you’ve never

been to those places

your eyes tell me of

oh ****, well it happened again,
I let it run off of its leash
but let’s not pretend it hasn’t
already been wreaking havoc
for weeks on weeks on weeks
I’m only just admitting to it now

this **** habit coaxed out
like a snake to its charmer
by thoughts I can’t control
& the more the beast dances
the more it wants from me
& the faster the song must go

I’ll **** myself trying to keep up
**** this rhythm, **** this speed
this mad consumption is draining
the pathetic reserves of all I have
& it won’t be much longer before
the beast swallows me whole

girl, i wanna tap into your spine
& remove all of the thorns
that make your insides bleed
& fill up your stomach with
heavy things like fear & dread

soon, i’d like to put your hand
in mine & show you what
lies beyond your humble body
& the prisons & cages you
made of your horizons

girl, you should really know
that nothing is impossible
& you’ve got wings of a mind
& a holy motor in your chest
you could take flight anytime

when the mail came
unmarked
I said I don’t want it-  return to sender!
I do not want this ****, again.junk mail is for the birds
I read books & letters, I do not open up
unknown packages for fear of ingesting anthrax
like that American did
a few years ago.

but it showed up once more
this time patiently waiting on my doorstep,

what
admirable
persistence

I thought to myself this must be a sign
of something good inside
(like the loving people that never give up on anyone else, ever)

intrigued by the beautiful wrapping,  I took it inside
& let it sit on my table  
for a few weeks,
half expecting something to happen, but
it did not want to make itself at home amongst
my masterpieces

so I moved it about,
looked for its place

it did not fit.
so I threw it on the shelf

Surprised by its lack of weight.
this **** thing must be empty !
why had I not wondered what was inside before?
(I’ll rip open that ******* & see what it’s made of)

but instead, into the fire I threw it
& the ashes disappeared shortly afterwards



the shelf remains empty
my hands warm,
the dust still unsettled
but by what ?

in the right corner of your room,
the white paint is peeling away,
to pick at it & watch the entire
thing collapse upon you.

much like the empty things i feel:
nothing but chipping little flakes;
fragile little waste that might
decorate the floor of your room,


naked walls enclose this empty space,
but confused excited atoms dance about ,
screaming at each other in a tongue
that I’ve never known nor care to.


cotton sheets, a sweet odor of skin,
***, oranges & things i can’t get across
cause the line is blocked, overloaded.
i want to; bring down the roof upon us

scratch, pick away, take parts from
the whole thing until it gives way
& submits to the overbearing weight
of unseen structural weaknesses


before being buried alive in this mess,
i’ll evacuate & leave behind this expanse
i’ve been squatting in since i first laid
my eyes upon your deceivingly lazy face.  


(i’m not in the business of maintenance)