unendlichkeit (Deux)

Rum
And tar
Liver and lungs wondered
Ain’t that enough?
Cum
And scars
Life replied!

I stepped into a pub
Not so far from where my body sleeps
And weeps.

Drops of IPA and Brandy on the floor
Visions from the other side
Had me wondering
If I Procrastinated adequately
So far and
Whose boy was I?

Islander
Or continental!
In the bar, my own man
Cigarettes’ bum burning my
Beautiful blissed
Fingers
Touching that screen
Trying to carve letters
Middle finger stronger
Than ever
Words
Dancing with the smoke.

I am what I have lost
I got that from Oslo!

The motion of my poetry
In slo-mo.

Tar
Or scar?
Printing my soul
Digitally
Fighting to get one
All the zeros
Don’t make much sense.

All I want is
To
Master gravitational waves
Life is just an hallucination
Where you and I
Are victims
Or
Perpetrators.

Burning my lungs
Because my dad
And dads
Got cancer from that earth
That we landed on
And I have no answers
For it
But grow our pain and history
In the shadows.

The concrete won’t make me forget
The soft moist of dew
Under my feet
The stars that we shall seek
And the happiness within.

Rum on the “mur”
As I walked
Down
And my fingers touched
An ideal
That we
Misfits
Paint on the pavement
Or somewhere in our bathrooms.

We be Pollock
Without them bollocks
And it be colourful
Of course
Because we meant to shine
We meant to move
Forward
For nothing
For be
For us
Forever that light
In their darkness.

Trust ye
Thrust the
Abyssal
And bury the May
‘Cause you can.

10052017

Comes in
Looking what you would expect from an aussie
Or maybe
Some grunge skater from Cali.

She
Got tattoo and her cleavage offers enough
To dive in
And get lost for years
Decades, I must say.

To the
Bathroom, they go
Three or four minutes
And the barman say to his
Boss
That
Never he had sex in a public
Loo.

My filthy martini soaking
My olives
I listen
Aware that
I did have sex
Multiple times
In a public washroom.

Saisombre danse sèche

Comme un souffle incertain
Le feu battant le vent
Amène la chaleur dont on ne sait si c’est la dernière
Caresse d’humanité.

Les gens dansent autour du feu
Le regardent, l’observent
Comme si ils voudraient s’y jeter.

Dans la nuit sombre sans
Les lumières artificielles du confort de
Nos villes
Nous retrouvons-nous enfin?

Je n’ai que
Je n’ai quoi
Dire
Je m’en éloigne.

Je regarde le passé et les cordes
De l’univers se détendent
Ses cheveux bruns toujours les mêmes
Mais nous sommes
Dans la braise et ces rejetons
Volant
Nous sommes bien là.

Dans celui-ci
Tignasse plus courte
Nous n’étions
Et le présent m’objecte
Que jamais nous ne fûmes.

Et ce feu brûle
Devant nous
La ronde est incomplète
Nous nous vautrons dans la contemplation
Peut-être que tout n’est que répétition
Peut-être bien
Que tant qu’à faire
Nous devrions finir?

Et ce feu brûle toujours
Je sens la pluie dans l’air
Et l’herbe sort son parapluie
Qui gratte tant
Ma peau d’humain
Quand je m’y plonge.

J’ai vu l’orage
Mais j’ai oublié quelle onde me mène
Sur quelle fréquence je danse
Les ombres sont là
Leurs lueurs aussi.

Rien n’existe
Car tout est,
J’ai allumé une rouge
Et j’ai pensé aux miens.

a red place within

I’ve always imagined my heart red
And heartbreaks
As scars, or little empty boxes pushing the kindness out of it.

I imagine my heart blank now
Each heartbreak as layers of red
Up until it reaches the complexion that I want, sadly
The heartbreaks will follow.

You can picture yours
And pick a colour too:
Maybe it’s black
Maybe it started with 50 shades of grey, coke and Jack.

You can picture yours
And pick a colour too:
Maybe it’s blue
Maybe it started with tears from the sky, and two ice cubes.

Alas,
Maybe the heart has no colour
Maybe our eyes act like sonar
Maybe the water has brimmed over
Maybe the bath is red forever.

Haine, Vie

oh they got
big ass windows
big ass flat tv
big ass cars
that big ass crash

now they have
skinny ass widows
skinny ass cocaine line
skinny ass children nostrils
that sniff stuff

rough picture, you say
unh?!

never should have they had a
big ass window
for such a big ass loser
to write a tiny ass
prose

Extrait 8: petits poèmes pour grands amants

Her mind was the storm
Outside,
that we would watch through the kitchen window
Her smell, steamed bergamot
would lick the walls as
the room sprouted the colour of Autumn.

As she moved, her
Rib cage created the waves
That never crashed
Curving her hips
Cambering her back and those thighs,
Where my kisses surfed on the froth
Until they
reached the arching tip of her toes.

The room coloured as Winter
When she inhaled
The last warmth
Before releasing the paradise spasm.

DANS LES MARGES (4)

Osciller entre le zéro et le un: virgule
C’est peut-être cette larme
Entre les lignes
Qui me délivrera des tentacules
spectaculaires.

Indigne ponctuation dans un monde binaire,
Chaque lettre, rupture
douce
coupure
sur les poignets.

Quand je suis mis à l’envers
pour regarder le monde
avoir l’abyme des éthers
à mes pieds.

Dans les marges (3)

Et si nous écrivions au large
Virgule en ancre, apostrophe au vent,
Nos rêves en pontuactions
Les parenthèses de nos horizons.

Dans les marges (2)

Entre gratte-nuages et étoiles
Du ciel
et celles, gravées sur le sol
Nos pas trouvèrent traces
Des frictions passées,
Étincelles de nos futurs inachevés.

Dans les marges (1)

Qu’on se lasse du temps
Il nous enchaîne
Dans ses branches nous sommes
Des racines humaines.