Biking is my only Medecine for me
Fast through the cold wind
I can't even feel my fingers about to fall off
When I bike I'm in the present
There's no past there's no future
Just keep on biking
Go fast
Gliding with the wind

I just wanna bike away

This is a joke
All of  that  hahaha this universe
I am think the medecine worked Albert Einstien
He could play your card
Or write his name on your universe yet
This is a stain and we all plug into the same machine
Everything you do you do because you are perfectly human

(you tell me that happiness exists
and I beg you to allow me
a few moments, to dissolve
those smiles plastered on that
family portrait you hang so proudly)

Exhibit A:
a medecine cabinet full of pills,
and a woman whose throat is a bit too loose,
whose head is a bit too woozy,
from trying to erase those 10 odd years,
when her uncle knew the insides,
her legs better than he knew his wife’s,

Have you seen
the man who prays too hard,
for redemption at some backwoods’ altar,
begging God and all those who witness
for forgiveness of sins he has yet to commit ?
He has forgotten how to sleep,
pacing and chasing far too many a dream over a hill.

Find next,
in a girl whose body feels like space,
forever bending over her knees,
to pull that monumental trigger
lying at the back of her empty throat.
that boom-boom, flash of violent thrashing
and a quiet flushing of the toilet
She never could quite remove what felt so heavy

Turn your eyes up the stairs,
to a nervous women who runs
a scalding bath, hoping that
maybe if her skins burns hot enough,
then she’ll be washed of all that
hellish responsiblity, submerging
the animal circus in her that’ll
paint her tombstone peasant anti-ghost


allow me a moment to clarify:
not all that lies at the surface
speaks to the distance
a soul can travel through time,
allow me a moment to make
an exhibition of struggle
and remind you that
nothing is ever quite what it seems

There is no such thing
But it is a brain medecine
used by all in power
to
abuse

How many sins before the final medcine
The medcine of peace
When the soul leaves the body
When the corpse is burned
And the ashes are flow
Oh! How much I crave the medecine
But I know I am not prepared for that drug

"...TO MAKE MUSIC THAT WILL MELT THE STARS..."
( For Ray of the Pools )

So, here we are
in Flaubert's garden

as if he has just
gone in and

will be back
in a moment.

We wait for him
to return

chat amongst
ourselves

intimate
with his very thought

having travelled
through his mind

and not mere
summer tourists.

We feeling we have
just stepped out from

a time machine and
a servant informs us

we have just missed the master
who had been called away.

We pass his photograph
with his melancholy gaze

"...it seems to me,,,"
it whispers as we past

"...that the rain is falling
through my heart...

,,,causing it to crumble into ruins.”

We return to his rooms
the mummified heads

stare back at us
through glass

screaming silently
"We were once like you!"

A fly argues
with a window pane

much as it did
a hundred years ago

time lost
between the tick and the tock

but now the sunlight
grows old

and outside the 21st century
awaits

angry at our escape
into another time.

I shush it
with a wave of my hand

“There is not a particle of life..."
I tell it

"...which does not bear poetry within it”



Musee Flaubert et d'Histoire de la Medecine
51 rue de Lecat, 76000, Rouen,

Flaubert's house but also on show...two mummified heads in a glass case, a full mummified body in a casket in a glass case, the skull of the Marquis de Sade and some plaster death masks of criminals that were guillotined!

“Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”
― Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

“There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it”
― Gustave Flaubert

“Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.”

― Gustave Flaubert, November



I wrote this after Ray Pool gave me a copy of Madame Bovary which I had last read when I was 12 so I needed to read it this time around as an adult. It was the writing on both occasions that got me!