My ex-time

There is a certain number of days in one year
 I used to count them all
In an endless mysticism I used to follow their procession
Wondering, a little out of breath

When my  glittering fifth wheel will ever reach the sanctuary

Then I slowly started to make mistakes in the counting
Each new day I was waking up as a time complete neophyte
Too bad, when I woke up, were my first words

 I bought a small plastic Christmas tree
I thought it would give me some essential marker.
When daffodils bloomed at its foot so bloomed my perplexity

I began to think of days as a modifiable quantity
I said loud, 876, when will I start the recording?
Then, 290 and 56, are they 567 in one year?

 But it never gave me the right date
Monday is useful
And sometimes I could have needed it
I decided to belittle  the countdown importance of time

To find its consistency

In sheer desperation I made it relative
It wasn't that disturbing
To make it flexible, straight, curved
Abundant, deserted, abstract, palpable
What a chance there is no time lost.

January 2011


One way ticket

Moving around
Coveting the next place to go to 
As a new kingdom to conquer
Each time,
Opening the doors as the promises of insatiable
Wandering around
With the joy of kids riding
For the first time
Their brand-new shiny bicycles

Traveling to the supermarket and return
A particular taste for risk
Traveling in the supermarket
A particular taste for exploration
The Oreo Bay mesolithic soil is delicate to walk on
Traveling above the cashier desk
The perfume of freedom wrapping up the ladies exhaustion
Traveling from the kitchen to the pontoon
The intemperate alligators lowered their eyes

Traveling from resolute cold distance
To astonishingly close intimacy
Traveling from language to silence
Thinking of traveling
Dreaming of traveling
Traveling Spirit as a fundamental rule
With the smile of rascals ready to steal the light

Moving while we were lying down outside
Moving while we were eating outside
Moving while we could hardly realize
The two of us were here
Existing all over the place
Moving through the epiphany of our contrast
Under the water of our tropical indolence

The only place
Within we never moved

January 2011 

Leight weight

I won't sit on top of any mountain of recyclable letters
The rain falls still sufficiently to cause immortality to fade away
I won't swim in the Holy River
I always liked the taste of lemon when I drink

I won't nod when I want to yawn
The uvula is frail
I'll exert a renewed control over the pressure
I won't plead for my resurrection
The legitimacy of my death isn't yet approved
By enough dark horses

I won't bother my neighbor with my exaltations
I won't ask anyone for the exact weight of light
I just won't breathe until I calm down
I won't ask my neighbor to share my exaltations
I won't explain
It's so late!
I won't ask any question
 About time
Or lost time
Or past time

I need to keep some natural nimbleness in the way to inhale
I won't write on a mountain of sheets
That just are the visible side
 Of a double burden.

January 2011

Hot bath


I take very seriously the diagnosis
Of all the fatal diseases
I could have caught

 In the pool of memories and answerable questions
 Taking daily hot baths is not wise
I know that
  I walk above a surprising distance
  Between my feet and what should be the ground
I must make up the weight of the sunset mutism 
There is some kind of point 
That keeps on indicating something
A point is in its very essence disappointing
  How can you trust anything with its location
  As only one property being somewhere
Somewhere is a myth, how could it be found?

December 2010


I lost some mass
I needed to help the balance
 Between my brain and the silence to become stabilized
I lost one of the two

I must not think it’s retaliation
It’s a simple law
Right by my side, my safety equalizes my vacillations
 With its distinct gravity

In calculating my loss index, I found a hobby
I’m working day and night on a new type of laughing aerosol
The formula is almost ready
It’s just a question of time and oblivion

I lost some dreams

I should have wraped each of them in a delicate fabric
So discreet I could have mixed them up with the classical wrong side
Of sabbatical fantasies

I lost some dreams
The oldest ones where one adds colors as an habit without
Even thinking of it
Then believes one single body could weight for two

I admit it
I lost some gas, I lost some gas
My octane rating should be far higher
I breath deeply from my hips
That’s why part of my cheeks may appear a little cyanotic.

I lost some mass
My two indexfingers point towards the same waste
I still have what's left with my two hands to scratch each others.

December 2010


Bubble of autistic dates
Past is, as it seems, past
Middle of the road
I can feel the blast of trivial but nevertheless dangerous vehicles
Ignorance of what was
And why, and how
But dry-eyed knowledges of where and who.

December 2010 

Alien parlance

There should have been no place left for commonplaces
There was no space left for separate spaces
In our Tower of Babel’s windowless conversation
Only a few neglected words still gabbling on its doorstep

Spoke to me as if
I swallowed as if
I could hear
And take
And filter
And understand
And change
And adapt
And distribute
And listen
And translate
And speak
 From the moving center of our disparity

What underlying axioms could have leapt up?
This will forever stay mute under the surface
In a few seconds, a few words
Changed the apparently
 Two-dimensional levity of language
Into the unplumbed failure
Of some other things

In each language
A few things are left for ever with no name
Let’s step back into the acoustic limits of our flat screens
Shallowness will soon join in
The barbershop quartet of our indifference
      Doesn’t one blather anywhere?

October 2010 

Two-way Mirror

As if, this is the way you talked to me
You spoke in your eternal language
 And in a slow movement the sense unfolded
Like a larva, slowly became
You never stopped because I was tumbling in the rear
I thank you for this lack of consideration
You shared this language like if it was ours
I don’t have any right to claim
Except to smell my sweat

This is the way you explained
Talking faster  as soon as you were running away
Running away as you talked
The transparency is not a fact
In American English
In a smog of Transatlantic confusion, words turned traitors

Don’t fool yourself
You ran onto the surface of words as if they had one
You thought you were walking on your home floor
But the language took you in its extremely long arms
In the midst of your constant agitation

I watched the distance becoming limitless between you and your words
We didn’t lose any other thing than ourselves in translation

October 2010 


  Don't ask anything
I'm busy thinking
I'm so busy thinking
I clear up the way while I'm busy thinking
I let point out the next ascent
Clambering up again, soon.

November 2010

Blood pressure

In a frigid and stuck predefined world
I cut myself with a knife
L. is bleeding 
Warm and inflammatory zone
Whatever incredible mistake was made
 I need to forgive myself
I'm here
It's there
L., like war is a lonesome experience

January 2011 

Incurable optimism

Everything is fine
I just mislaid the bulb
The Idea
The volatility of girls
They jumped off
How jerkily they jumped!
And clapped their hands
Clap, clap, clap
Making the pulse of the worlds converges
Towards their bursting belly
I knew it
I lost the joy
The ardor of joy
Crumbled into a hole
In the plexus

December 2010 


A sad discourteous ogre is renting my whole body
I think my body belongs to me
I'm wrong
It feeds this sadness with my bones
The calcium doesn't agree with my choices
It runs away to save its integrity
It's not the good answer

It's quite obvious, it shouldn't
But in a so confusing mess
Who am I still to have any right to judge?
Within such a constant sadness, for such a long time
How could a piece of chalk only remember where it should stay.

December 2010

Nest of sadness

Where does it stay, I know it
Behind the lips
 And despite the despotic mascaraed of the mascara

Deep into the two eyes
It's a good thing they are not three
A sadness as natural as the morning need to urinate
But lasting far longer

I pee sadness from dawn till dusk
It's a good thing it doesn't smell

November 2010 


People could give it a name
But people can name everything
 I just can keep naming the sadness sadness
It's plenty enough

As I struggle to keep the blue blue through the smog
I succeed, most of the time
And the sadness becomes a blue sadness

Here no hesitation
It's better than no blue at all

I take some time off out of this eternity for exercising
And remember how I laugh

I laugh
And feeling the thunder in my throat
 I perfectly find out where the sadness stays

It's turned into a cyst between in and outside
The dead fruit fallen from a long gone copulation
And from somewhere else
The unbelievable continuance of the fall
I keep on eating stones.

November 2010

Stars and stripes

How powerful are the beatings of the drums
How exciting this unchained army
Your dead soldiers
Dessicated folk
Your solid little tears screaming
The ones you lost in the fever
How mute are the scares now
How cold too
Better the heat
The heat, the heat
Tender victims
Implacable agonizing stars
Exquisite fatal sisters
Your best lovers
Holding them all into your arms

October 2010 

Superlatives for everest

How much stronger is your pain
Stronger the devastated emotion
The burning of your nights
How savage the unformulated aim
How carnal the knowledge
The blank hatred
The wish to die
And to make someone die with you

Closing your eyes to look at the mirror
Cynical orphans
Depopulated words
Stuck in a throat full of gravel
Warm, red
Boiling upside down
How precious are the wounds
What a shelter for nowhere

October 2010 

Will come a day

Will come a day
The day of our entrenched betrayal
The day of our incapable memory
When all the signs emerging from the constant beating
The defibrillator, the absence
Standing here like a desperate queen
Sitting on her own crown silent and bewildered
Right on the point of confluence of thoughts
Obstinate underground
Unfinished questions

Will come a day
When your name met in an angle of my screen
Your name met in each angle of my memory
Hour after hour
Dedicated to try to reach you
Through the uranium-baring quarry of your life
The indecipherable familiarity of your body
Waking me up to my cave-woman's purity
All this time and this time and this time
Jumping and scrambling and snaking and swimming
Will become the salt of my buried sea

November 2010


Then came the question
Who are you to talk to me this way?
I waited and waited for an answer
And you kept on talking to me this way
And I kept on asking
Who are you to talk to me this way?
Wondering why you couldn't give any answer
But you couldn't
You didn't know who you were.

February, the 20th 

Dance floor


In a circle
You with me here
Turning in vain
Around the same wounds turning
Endlessly turning, the same sound

The slippery dance-floor oozing out over my center
The rounded pain
Sweet wounds turning
Sweet words surrounding their dance in a circle
Like a corrupted blood in the veins of my memory
Drowning me
Some drops of secret ecstasy
Exquisite wounds, my best lovers
Such a wonderful harmony
Drowning you with me

In the circle
The squeaking of our soles

On the dance floor, their morbid sparkles


June 2010 

Half Integral

Will remain an H.
A light blow imperceptibly filling the air
An H with no name
Just showing it's still alive with tiny traces of wetness
On the sheets
A breath
The discreet one of a sleeping child
But everybody is gone away now
The air is the only one still there
The breath is regularly lifting the breast
Up and down and up and down
In an empty space
Is an H with no clear mission
Maybe remembering it was once a letter
The first letter of a word.
Such a long time ago, a meaning now useless
The air is able to stay with no one to inhale it
It was the beginning of a mute moment
But the exhalation of an aspirate H
As an expired letter blowing over an inspired desire
The rest of the word is lost somewhere
It certainly found an other letter
Like an M.
But what could a sleeping child ever do with it?

November 2010 


Hold me
Take the remainders
The part impossible to sold alone
It's a rest but I cannot keep it for myself
I have no use for it
I constantly stumble on its presence
Help me to spread this concentrated blind matter 
Hold my eyes to look at you
Hold my stupidity and my selfishness
Change them into small gifts
Hold the lost portion of my humanity
Hold me and open my pressure to some free air
Where it will
Become microscopic drops of care
And bathe you
Hold me to give you my power of hydrating
The deserts you have forgotten.

September 2010

Behind the lips.

Will I know some day where the sadness comes from?
Some road too long to walk on and no cows to look at?
Some light breeze with a smell of gasoline?
Some ideas about what fresh water should taste like?
Or a slight pain in the left half of the stomach?
Maybe my demand on the other half
Who needs complete organs when so many people are starving?

December 2010


Open and closed.

Cats and mice?
Sand and water?
Fingers and electric socket?
Image and mirror?
Stomach and hunger?
One and so many others?
Stomach and food for the spirit?
Beginning and end?
With and without?
Limits and invasions?
Dead end and open space?
Expectations and lucidity?
Oblivion and memory?
High speed and paralysis?
Distance and bond?
Indifference and passion?
Withdrawal and presence?
Change and inertness?
Acceptance  and rejection?
Choice and lack of solution?
Time and time?
Past and what?

December 2010

Know where

The march is going on
Noises and smells
All my hands sinking obstinately
Into the irregular constancy of matter

The march is going on, I stride away
Everything is fine
Everything is fine
I'm fine
Something small but rather brilliant hung on my left shoulder?

Days follow the day
Night is dark but we expected it didn't we?
Everything is in order
I'm back to back with my omens thus I walk

It walks somewhere for me as well

What's next?
I'm moving so slowly!

Placing silently the reassuring consistency
Of all things around me

Who comes next?
I don't recognize me in their pace

September 2010