My shortage







Leave the forehead fall
Where it will be cushioned by your breath
Dispel myself
Finally melt
Leave abandoned all these pieces of steel
Containing me
Leave all of this sublime resistance
Inevitable resistance to the clashes
The strange words, the spasms of trust
Forget for a few centuries the ultimate degradation of the miry
And fall on the ground of your hands
After so many steps in the atlas
A small place lit by a sigh
And I sit down
And I don't think anymore
Of these reasons to take off from my back when I walk
Of the so long immobility of this craving

Surviving and warm
Hidden, continuous, under the continuous flow of days






March 2016






Reverse fault



 
By tremor, my continental crust collapses
I had yet supported it
Long supported
Unpredictable, the gap appeared of the lithospheres
Where lies the one
The one who lies

I abandon the idea of a journey without shaking
He remains, shall I want it or not
The lower mantle of my dreams
Brushing my ocean ridges
With the indefensible memory of his hot spots

Crumbled the plates
Collided
Under the pressure of his silica
Sedimented in the heart of my structural changes
Against which I can just nothing

He is heavy, magnetizing my earthquakes
Present, omnipotent over my asthenosphere
I think I engulfed him
But he comes out on the poles
Always as much distorting my alluvia




Marsh 2016





Unforgettable








Should it at last be finally given to clear the farthest points
Those that mark the space of their little brown streak
As a never completed task, forgetfulness
Never completed, erasing, erasing
Should be removed from the perspectives of time
The essential murmurs
Those that had surrounded with their determination
The appalling strength of my attachment
Each day traces its recall
For a grant I do not know the sum of
Mercilessly the  memory ratifies the pledge
I sacrifice the oblivion on the altar of hours
Regret of a hardly drawn life
Of a very vague agreement
A slip in the imperfect to quench
The overture is indefinite, I know, I close my eyes on the impossible






February 2016




Voluntary Liquidation




It's time
The countdown has been pushed to its limit
Nothing vibrates anymore
It must be acknowledged
Inside the required old missions, beyond the essential dreams
 What is more or less shaded
In the palm of the hand

It's time
 The work has borne no fruits
The cup should now be a bit full with the juices of my efforts
It is not

I am condemned to my own lift
 Without other purpose for the time being
 Than to cover what was
With a carelessness which I know nothing about

It's time
 And in this evening
As once again I am talking to the wall
 Unsure if anyone will ever even hear my voice
I lean over and tell myself
 Well, it's time to know

 It's time
 And I know I will continue to pretend,  this is possible
 But the uncompromising kernel of my life
Has been washed up






September 2015 








Mea Culpa








I will never have the meshes of my skin tight enough
 To withstand the relentless attacks of the infinite error
I envy the wicked, I envy the fierce, I envy the moodless egos 
I know it's there, the vagaries
  Making my means turn pale
At the simple bend of a crooked foot
I will slip towards the latest ruts in stammering
That certainly I am wrong and seeking how
  Under the mass of the ones who know, flattened
Self-declared guilty of all the world's sins
Hanging on the collarbones of my bottomless fault

I will have continually to repent
Far too spineless under the doubt

Wrapped up until the last hour
In the fibers so poorly strung, so rough, oh!

So rough
Of my own right's rags






September 2015 











Common Dawns







Awakening is a workshop left in disarray by the winds of sleep
There I look for tools that can be useful to me
There are, at the end of the night, parts of my life to consolidate
It is covered by the mists of what has been without having existed
The hours crossed by the first steps are timorous
 At the new day
 I do not understand
 I do not understand
 I need to store, classify,  label a little
 What emerges from the night
 Every morning opens on the ancient chaos
 My thoughts make their path through the damages
 I went to bed believing they were at last sinked in the anecdote
 My thoughts hold my finger, it designates me

They lead me nowhere
 They allow me, out of tolerance, to stay there
 I learn, each morning I learn
The price of not having to know at any price






September  2015






Discrepancy







Where pushed me the stubborn movement of so many explorations
Could this be on the edge of a monastic retreat?
The questions abound, plowing the unmitigated

The distances are growing increasingly deep
Into the asphalt of evidences
In the center of the profusion of signs
My place is to redraw every hour
Sometimes I have none
And right here where I won't ever stay

Maybe some part of truth will unveil











Septembre 2015












Recall







This is at the extremity of the breath that the memory stays
Suddenly torn off under the veil of its labor
The slow days' swaying stops
 Then appears the mild flow of long ago
A long time ago
When was known I was expecting
 When was known who I was expecting
When was known who I thought I knew
 Suddenly the bygone reverie reenacts itself
 The one of unheard calls in still warm fleshes







Septembre 2015


Sigh









The sorrow withers while hardening
Fat marble to carry under a shrug
Plexus beribboned with an amphibian call
Become in its cage creamy like a daydream
It was yesterday does not exist
Even when the sigh of diastoles
Gives itself up to the Levant






January 2015






Neglected Time




A porterage will have to be found
Caring arms, safe edges
Where to lean on the burden of these years spent staggering
From one dream to an other
From one withdrawal to an other
From one other's shade to some stranger
 

All this time spent
Believing in the effects of anamnesia
In the laborious revelations of the digging

Will have to be evaluated without getting mislaid
Indebted to my life, I am

Dismayed by its drifts

Will have to be found under the layers of clay
The firmness of a meaning lost for the time being
Found the enlightenment of the shores
After the dense darkness of vanities
It will start from the countdown
Get out from the necessity of accountability
 


This time sensitive as the blade of a dagger
Driven in between the shoulders that I turn against before
Lost, this time dedicated to an ill tided together concord
Denied, then offensive
This defeated time of my own substance
Tormenting every minute ahead
With its past failed opportunities




July 2015 






Aphonia




Absence, indisputable like a Gaussian curve 
Around the fortuitous aorta of my breath
 Something was lost
I do not know where

Which disappearance removed in my center
An old gold sensitive to the light of days
Sensitive to the time one rubs one's palms with
To better hang one's dreams to objects taking off
Taking myself off I knew how

I think I knew, even when the ground is heavy, throwing out my shout
I lost sight of my wings
Burned perhaps
A destiny emerges
Syrupy, slightly talkative
It acts for me

I can only bow, yielding to its tutelage
Something was lost
At the bottom of what I thought was mine
The elegance of joy softening the error
The joy of elegance
I myself became this unknown gap with no echoes on its sides
Seeking to get dizzy with a few songs











July 2015










Disorientated mourning



 






High I carry the truth of the reasons, tensed, persistent over invisible mutilations
I want to hold back my neck, not to let it cripple against this vertical track
Where, the head hanging, I try to manage without what nourishes me

Who would have thought that the folds and creases drawing me
My spine bent under the loss
Collapsed under the shade of my stomach
Would be tied up?
Would condemn me

To one unique story
Crushing, under the arc of its time

Compelling, around its ability to focus only on the ignorance of myself
My defenses and their prayers to the useless

To constantly renew themselves towards absent paths







July 2015





Tied




Remain the ballast
Ever, restored as a compelled vow of constancy
Present like the nape of the neck turned towards the wrong side
Towards the leaded center of all the vacant projects
The bottom, the permanency of the tie
An established fact almost sweet in its durability
Almost ordinary of so much tenacity along its ethereal sadness
This endless experience of this one, loved above my reason
Without fail, failed.


June 2015




Wavering Raft






The arms clasping the knees, squatted against the lapping of the perpetual waves
 I'm staying. This is the rather trite course of this drift
I discovered along the wandering the banks of sand

The silent shades of shipwrecks under the water memory
Roaming the seas from choice to choice towards this empty raft
 As the winds go along blowing over my futures
And tearing off the foam some untouchable sparks in the distance, sometimes
No remote eye, vigilant on the shore to warn away from the meanders
The worn pupils of the sextant, the backward surges of the accounts and weighings keep me offshore
Will I learn the suspense, the agony of inertia?
May I wish the fate and I will at last entangle one another under its spicy breath
Guiding the bare craft towards some unnamed haven?
The fate jumbled up with the lingering headland
Deserting it, like an old skin of losses
Steady feet set down on a soil weeded by forgetfullness
Deserting it, the so light and heavy raft
Light from its lack of cape
Heavy from its equivocal matter



June 2015



Vagaries




In tribute to the Treasury



The fold of depondancy is jammed under the armpit
Of what must, at every moment, be confronted
The slightest loosening is seen darting out of fate
Of the expectorations of fate
Foul-mouthed, malicious, dishonest to the effort

The elements stand up in their omnipotence
The rope swings and waits
This is a fight of the adult area, I'm late
A fight feverishly renewed at each oversight
Forgetting the weight is unthinkable, what did you think?

The fatigue, indeed, the fatigue
Having to carry on one's collarbones
Always the same sequence of notes without knowing the key
The song is not welcome, nor the recklessness
Only the sigh will pave its place, in vain.






June, 2015




Departure





It appeared
Suddenly coming from the viscera
The road shut itself down and trees bordering it lower their arms
It appeared
The closed end and the need to open
To go straight towards scintillating points of unknown
To drive until sleeping places become inconceivable
The longing of departure
Back as a wind under dead sails
An ancient chalice awaited in the shadow
Peeling the marks of old legacies

An other departure
To unfasten the islands on their open seas
The tracks on poorly plotted horizons
A need to go where it is nowhere again
To move away like a vow made in the very first minutes
To the rustling and crucial power of movement




June, 2015




Wear and tear



We have walked side by side
None of our steps could trace
The palms of our hands never had time to absorb our sweat
Holding each other tight was the end of an idea
We haven't press our bellies until we forget about them
We did not wear out each other enough

Both of us at the end of worlds that ignore each other
Turning our lives in enclosed lagoons
We did not get to appreciate the gravity of habituation
Neither the ease of the habits' half-asleep oblivion

We did not wear out each other enough
Each of our encounters has sprung from nowhere
The only shared space where we sat, expecting each other for years
Everything had the glow of an enlightenment

Even anger
The body encysted in our history only experienced the flight
Where could it have landed ?
There was no steadiness of the days to offer this frenzy
The weapons of its own death

For ever a draft
Without having really gravitated around the solid tracks of rituals
Without their stifling hands on our mouths, we are
The complaint of this cripple love is haunting
Almost inaudible like a sanded up body
It moans of wanting to wither
It calls for a fair disappearance
Aspires to the erasure into the drips of erosion
It moans to be finished off
But what can be annihilated when there was never enough space
For it only to dare itself ?



July 2014





True




We talked to each other while climbing up in different staircases 
The words were torn by so much space
 White, secret, sigh, burn after reading
The raw material of the untold
 Investment in the heavy
Painful as an amputated limb
Vibrating of the shocks and of the weight of tests

Missed the envy of a delicate wash
Missed the fresh air of the steppes
The one that perfumes the language with its saps
Coats the lips of what it takes for them to stick to each other
Lastly, stick to the pure
The hard infamous droitures

We hit our forehead
Against the citadels of silence and their resignation
The idea that all is well is an expensive effort
 We avoided each other in the pretenses
 The lie draped in silk of love virtues
Without lifting once the curtain
 Over the devastating strength of truths
Blinding, yet I know you know, they were 




July 2014




Water




The water, I loved the water in you
The one that keeps me vaguely suspicious
You were going to open up the mysteries of apneas
To the comforts of oblivion in the magnetic Ocean
I loved you diving into the impassive funds
Watching the snap of your whole body
Offered and silent, dreading in the blade
Angular fiancé of the liquids
I loved the water in you and the water in me, distant
Where you will put your back so that I can draw alongside
Tie myself up to the miracle of amoebic swimmings
To the wave kissed with a full mouth like a lover
The amphibious of your gifts, the froth, the angels' foam
Overcoming the fear of engulfment

Fade away into the embrace
The taste of salts on the clavicles
Kept out of misgiving
Softened by your knowledge to the boundless benevolence of the billows
Stretched to the naked tempo of the tides
I would have liked, I think, to swim in this water.




July 2014





White bed






We would have shared without understanding them
The imprisoned, the suspect
Dropped in the sandy arena
The impatience to abandon ourselves to our puzzles
Budding in the hollow of each branch
The intuition of our mouths would have fully bitten our shy-aways
One and nude
Alone facing the white of its secret
The innermost silence
My body keeps parked its avowals
That existed only sought by your hands





August 2014







Confluence



When our seas penetrate, there remains dissolved only  the salt of our memories
No more waves,no more movement
The wind itself collapses
Paralyzed by the ambiguity

Clinging to our ellipsis followed our seaweed
Only living traces of our secrets efforts
The time landed there, tangled with the constant current versatilities
There were swells, there were hollows

Sargasso seaweed clogged our tear ducts
On this lake where no one knows whether the sudden peace is not the shoulder of death
No count down, no cape to round
Barely perceptible at the bottom of the familiar holds
Some blasts
The last groans of presumptuous mercenaries suffocating under their disappearance






August 2014





Equestrian mourning





 I have loved in fits and starts, without target
Caught by the flanks of a furious need to believe
Poked, pleading with righteousness for the false roads
I have loved as a crusade to so silky tips of myself
Thrilling, lifeless rising, almost
Fawning the dark passivities and the leaks
I thought it was poignant, the space
The place to grip with a closed mouth
The place where to leave the amniotic clarity
dawning under the shadow of the cross

I have loved concise, astounding
Unfolding one by one the layers of the sharp to-me
Stoned to the systole by the cost I paid, brought to my ruin
The thousand and one grotesque vibrations of faith
I have religiously loved the sweat, the urine, the miasma
The fruits of the unspeakable other
The mystery of my wide open body
Attentive to the impact of its own weight
I have loved thinking of probing the islands, the coral
The molluscs left there by the smear of eras
Touching the edges of the songs and their echo
Laughing at the derisory haletance

It is a somnolence I lacerate, a sulphurous wound
Widespread on the optical nerve of my soul

Impregnated sanies under the shrug of my incredulous shoulder
The doubt stirring the validity of the gift
A grin to the bravery

The unremitting fear
Impassable bounds of the understanding 

 Infatuated deception
Devoted militancy
Blindness

Wanted so much the advent
The quest for truth under the saliva
 So much toiled
Obstinate, at the breath, palms offered
Seeking
Closed eyes, the moistness of a sternal beam





January 2015





Detachment




Extrapolate, elude myself
Grab the lantern tail of the last train for Geneva
Hang fermely to the wheat ears
Quarter in my contradictions
Abbreviate
Spread
Jump out of myself, through any bay, jump out

Not endorse the before, the after
Not go green of disgrace under the putrid breezes of cyanobacteria
Kick the bucket if someone asks for it
Stay barefoot
Not shudder to be unable to groan
And yet

Extract myself, extract, extract

Shake the hand a little for someone to see it has fingers
For him to know
So that I do not have to count them every night to be sure I exist
Being caught sight of, just that, it's already good enough
Unpacked with or without gloves but quickly

Eject myself
Fly over places
Where thousands of friends used to think they could be pleased to be with each other
Climb to the top where, this for sure
Someone will be waiting for me, and for a long time
And seeing me will feel terribly disappointed by his lost dreams of happy barbecues

So sorry for the misunderstanding
Burn myself alive on a hot tin roof, the grease smell remains long in the air

Stay in the air, out of reach of my atavism, pretty close to nothing
Ignoring if it is I who don't speak
Or if those are the ones I look at, down bellow, who can not hear me
Not look for the answer
Scattered like my organs in the weightlessness of some unespected detonation





May 2015 









Cultivating


 
I do not give the soils their resting time
Do not abound with the fallow
I plow
This is the only thing I still do
I plow
To the interferences, I do not let their part of secret life
There were no renewal of the elements, no discreet work of creatures
The anecic wildlife was deported, I no longer hear its wisper
I hear nothing
I plow
I plow
Return from dawn to dusk my patch of fiasco
It is a steep terrain

The land is bare under the torrential rains of false routes
It disgorges
Its entrails almost visible under the erosion
The land is parched with the musky suns
It cracks
I lost the biomass out of carelessness, forgetting to align perspectives
I plow
The humus is decomposed and the furrows bottomless
I even lost the idea of sowing

 I plow relentlessly slitting the sides of the earth
Always identical
Plant nothing, spread nothing, expect nothing
I sleep little, watching the running of the plowing implements
Which could decapitate me
I see, I see that nothing grows
That this work of ox is vain
Lacks the hand of la Semeuse
Her faith in persistence





May 2015








Something missing








 I miss you like the disaster of a stake badly drove into a liver
I miss you like a rain that could only fall upside down 
I miss you like a world without red
 I miss you like a vessel flying the flag of cholera
I miss you like the day when no fern survived the blaze
I miss you like an African elephant taken in its own mass 
I miss you like a radioactive footprint on the sand of an evacuated beach
I miss you like a symphony no one would have known how to start writing
I miss you like a hunging to the branches of a purple Bougainvillea, at dawn








May 2015




Aphonic Call








The nails of your voice come tearing my sleep apart
Leaving me open, engulfed
the whole day in this dream more substantial than a bedsore
Leaving me open, gaping around these words under their chimerical wave

You call. You say
" It's me! "
Leaving me open, with as one and only answer a strangled silence
Such a stupefaction that the mattress shivers

You call. You say
" It's me! "
Night last thin minutes of insouciance 

Torn to pieces through my intangible ear
Blown up back to the surface of the impossible
No one
" It's me! "
Who I buried with so much difficulty under so much pain

" It's me! "
And I wake up frozen right up to my last entrenchments
Those of my dear nights that tolerate forgetting me
My dear nights, during which forgetting me I forget you.






May 2015