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.

let, let go of my wrists,
which are much too heavy
I let him explore that field
& he put his heart in his ***
Fell asleep on the beach &
the grey waves are approaching
like a baby in its crib
or an old man, rather,
dead in his grave

let, let the hours melt,
bound, the one after the other
the time that his body
can’t leave any prints,
that he’d be swallowed by the sea,
I would have drank every ocean,
willingly, hands tied back
but the salt water burns my lips
just as much as my words bite back

step, step back, it’s the moment,
I leave him on the rocks,
to go sleep with the sun,
at dawn, I’ll return to eat,
**** dry his petrified ribs
Bury his bones beneath the castles
of sand that decorate & spot
the horizon of this cannibal’s feast

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.

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

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

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.

‘cause of the Itch,
you’ll say “do you want…”
& i’ll say “yes, i do”
i’d follow you anywhere
i’d follow anyone anywhere
i’d follow Alice down any hole

& ‘cause of the itch,
we’re doing our best
to reduce the amount
of planets that circle
the sun on the daily
& letting the stars sleep in

& we’ll spend Saturday,
dancing in the dark,
dripping, soaking wet
in hours of lesbian sweat
taking off our clothes
like armor, naked in battle

we’ll drink champagne
in taxis at twilight &
close the evening,
landing with not one but
two in cotton sheets
so hot, you’re so hot

& you when you wake up
do you wake up to naked
boys, still swimming in
last night’s *****?
laugh & there aren’t any ******’ problems

are they funny & clever?
do they walk in irony
towards that boite sur le quai?
do they study philosophy?
do they stare off into the distance?

do they **** **** & eat ***** ?
shove their fingers down your throat
& steal your cigarettes?
pull your hair without asking?
are they ***** like you are?

‘cause of the Itch,
are you swallowing everything alive
are you teasing death with a kiss
cheat on her with your mistress
miss Joie de vivre?

la dolce vita, i'll spit on your face
& you like it,
I know you do

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

The women sit amongst one another,
speaking of hands and plans,
whilst I myself remain anchored to a chair,
using my own to tug on what remains of my thinning hair.
This is why I lick the back of my teeth
and this is why I cannot speak.

I am above wondering
what a life contains:
the moments of swallowed words,
lost dreams and particles of dust,
gutted & compacted
lightly calicified in my spine.
My mind, captive since that time
when my flesh was still peachlike
& ******.
How it flies forth,
How I lie back.

The charade progresses,
I swallow.
Still hollow, with the hallows of being.
Those hands the women revere,
dizzy my head.

It’s once again, midnight
humming arrogantly with
a churning of the wheels.
It's a soft-spoken rapture
& brutal shedding of rust:
in the hour when ghosts in
their shadow-cloaks come out
to play,
all nice.  

This is what with which
you are stricken :
Silence & alien gestures
you’ve rehearsed


Sometimes, your blood  
won't evaporate as quickly as you'd wish
-when the swallowing gets laborious.
He looks so pretty and easy prey.
His words fell on you like bullets,
His hands fell onto you like oil to water.
Slaughter & Divide
All you've wanted to hear:
All he knows to say
Blame beta fathers , such farmers
with borders & no horizons-
they never went to the moon
And you are selling  prime real estate
somewhere in the Milky Way

Here you easy come easy go
in the pseudo-celestial shallows,
Yet you are still nothing more,
nothing less than your shotgun grandfathers
and their drinking women
with ******* aflame.
Black hole reverie or Persephone
Make the call.

However, this is such a regular revelation ,
you are always saying the past has yet to come
as you set the record to repeat and
let the meridian of time rot.

Then he looks at your thighs
and listens to your speaking,
and you wilt in the glitter
because it's scripted, wilt so
Effortlessly
So needlessly.
Shutter, revoke, indulge, repulse.

Tonight in your belly, lies the gravestone of insanity,
unrooted by some ill intended resurrection of goodwill and humanity.

You are always missing the mark
but so quick to pull the trigger.
Full of so much of what's easier done than said -

You lie down in ethanol meadows making dust-angels amongst the metal beehives,
as he's looking at you
like some sort of promethean redemptress,
asking you meekly for just a touch
and then you swallow your refusal,
cramping up in a paralyzed and vampiric ecstasy.
Who first taught you the word ephemeral again ?

He reaches
You retire.
You say I have no sugar
For myself
Let alone for my brother
But then again, you let it flow
from your bubbling mouth.
Flagellating yourself with the same cane.


Then you pray for absolution on a bended knee
for the form alone, mockery of a jellyfish woman
Indeed, the skeletoned live on another plane entirely.

And you beg for mercy
Beg for forgiveness
Lest they love you not for
The alien cancer petrifying in your gut.

He beckons you over
You fold and bend down,
One should only ever be primitive
In this menagerie of sunsets and sunrises
He jumps your bones
But you're already nothing but dust

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

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 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.

une semaine serpentine,

des pommes empoisonnées pendent d’un arbre perché,

j’en ai mangé jusqu’à la rupture,

et puis sept soleils sont morts, l’un après l’autre,

mais l’horloge ne s’en est pas rendu compte

et depuis

des poussières ont envahi ma poitrine,

ce qu’il y avait avant, je ne sais plus,

mais je n’arrive plus respirer …

mes poumons sont gonflées par une fumée noire

pendant qu’une brume funèbre m’enveloppe le cerveau

et ces jours-ci je n’avale que mes larmes

peut-être ….

quand je ne serai plus qu’un squelette,

je pourrai disparaître en toute tranquillité

de cette terre étrange

où les bêtes parlent à l’envers dans une langue inconnue

entre-temps, j’avale la mienne dans l’espoir de m’étouffer

d’où vient l’homme primordial

d’où vient cette femme lâche

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

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

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

The way things were when
sunlight started to terrorize the morning
and then eventually, the evening sky.
My chest thumped at a glacial pace.
A slow hibernating thaw.
Those days I slept quite easily
whilst my mind ran away with the time.
Taking time with clowns & thieves alike.
Sponges indeed, sponges after all.
You crept in one night, hanging moons beneath your eyes.
I had exploded.
I closed.
On the loom, black lace then white cotton.
In my room, a screaming then a humming.
Cigarettes scattered the floor like sacrifices to some distant deity.
Who must have heard my prayers.
Something about all your silence
threw blankets on my lungs
and off my bed.
In your youth,
I feel soft.
Joy, I want more
just you.
you. you. you
&

jdf

every morning,
with excruciating strokes of grace,
the light of the distant sun,
orchestrates entire symphonies
against your violent skin,
as if only for me :
the humble audience
for these divine harmonies
that transcend my sense(s).

your multitudes are to me
what flash thunderstorms
are to quiet, summer forests
and in your presence
I have crossed these shadows,
erased their weight,
for you revive
the colours of my dreams
& their vibrancy.


I know not from which place you have come,
nor how long you have traveled to reach me.
I know only that you feel like home
and now, that I have waited so long
(for you)
to arrive.

I cannot help but remember
that things got awfully sad,
the day you began sleeping
around the clock.

I was never one for time
but then again, I found
myself sitting alone
in the yellow kitchen,
wondering if you would
find the courage to climb out of bed.

Once it was midnight,
I salivated and began
to dream of railroads
and the places they could take me
if only I could stop counting
and forget the way
you left
the stove, barren.

That was the first time
I knew hunger intimately
and then for years,
I would taste forgiveness,
chewing it over and over
until I finally could take
no more, throwing it up,
in the hope that I would
find answers in my emptiness.

But the clarity never came
in that way and I stopped
looking to others to make me whole.
I ran and ran so far
that I forgot about to think
about you and your weight
yet I know it slept in my spine:
the Pavlovian response
of procuring the void
I so desperately wished to comprehend.

My body took me
to the places I dreamt of
that night when I was a
ravenous girl,
You always told me I was beautiful
but I felt maybe
that I was too much.
I tried to shrink down so that
only my mind remained
but I’m two parts mad,
so at least I know I’m made
of something.

It comes, sneaks in
slowly, quietly.
Often at times,
I don’t even notice
its subtle arrival
‘til I’m being taken away
by waves, I know not how
or why to swim

Then I’m starring off
into the distance,
fixating on an endless crack
on the wall, it’s always there
I know I’m being occupied
by this guest of a geist
& I’d like to push you out,
keep this persistent phantom
of ugly things from taking me over

Just give me the chance to breath,
before you pull me under ?
Annonce your arrival ?
& don’t wear that mask ?
I already know your face


Don’t lie ?
oh, there is never any use
in talking to you, your rubble

Never, any
at all

Your mouth is usually dry,
I’m sure an incubus
sleeps in your gut.

You were, at first,
a twilight ride
on a stormy night,
unprecedented submission
I confronted in autumn

I place your tender brutality
in the very back
of my medicine cabinet.

Amongst the radio and drug deals,
I lost my will to speak
You saw my sure hands
do all of the talking

There is contact
and then none at all.

The spectators cry
Plot ! Affection ! ****** !
But I play a probe
and you embody a shell

There is crescendo in your throat,
a cloud of static air in mine.
It is the punctual friction
that provokes combustion
yet there is nothing
about your face or history
that compels me to
douse myself in gasoline.

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.

You were left open
dusty, a bit tattered
like a book that has
perhaps,
spent too many days
on some forgotten shelf

I like to think
I was gentle

I like to think
I made an effort

I swallowed
what I could
& fell 5 stories to your spine


Could you feel my hands
trembling
as I turned the page ?

Perhaps,
I skipped to the end.

I certainly missed
the ******,
and never got the plot

Oh but I feel regret
for my impatience

You slammed shut.
I had papercuts
on the tips of my fingers


Somehow,
despite the words on pages,
the volumes read,
I feel only ever illiterate

It’s only ever once
I’m inside the box
of your mind
that my tongue turns
misty blue
and in small whispers,
I pass away,
dying in some nonchalant way.
Oh how the days race on by
and how you pretend not to notice
that I’ve got my eagle eyes on you.

Easy shells,
we’ve made a mockery
of legitimate feelings
but I cannot deny such vraisemblance

You are a beach
in September,
or a summer in
rigor mortis.
I think we were both dead
when we met,
only just beginning to beg for rebirth
and I brought you maps of no-man’s land
so now here we are

Stuck in the mud
of a pneumonatic love.
I will always be the coughing Queen of Anomie
and you’ve still yet to unleash
your lungs.

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.

There are stars in his eyes,
and a knife in his hands,

He never felt so heavy
with that perrenial void.

So he’ll swallow all he can
in desperate & deliberate gasps

He’s made himself sloppy,
swaying and stupefied,
saying justify my pathetic effort
or I’ll cut you open
and take what pieces I need.

He just can’t leave empty-handied,
God forbid, he lose face by asking.
*I’ll cut you open little thing
and show you the color of vacancy.

heaven in your head
& honey in your heart,

i feel these things,
tingling dancing bits,

all about my skin
& mostly in my mind

when it drifts to you
as often as i exhale