The mirror
_
You’re a mirror to me
An image I refuse to see
The glass reflects
tempest and thunder
wrestling men and
red mimosas
My profile is scattered
in the hundred pieces
of shattered glass
The mirror
_
You’re a mirror to me
An image I refuse to see
The glass reflects
tempest and thunder
wrestling men and
red mimosas
My profile is scattered
in the hundred pieces
of shattered glass
Strawberries, meringue and whipped cream
–
Sour fruits chopped in quarters
Crispy chickens’ periods and sugar
Flagellated milk turned into
an afterparty
Edit : I’m not a dessert, I’m a mess
A bunch of flowers
–
A bunch of flowers
Took me by surprise
Petals rising
Enveloping me
Like a hive for its bees
I surrender
Pistil erect
Intoxicating
flavours for the nose
right in the middle of
the night
Let me remind you of
the hangers
They would make a beautiful
bunch of flowers
Baby mustard
–
Baby mustard is crawling in the playground
Where the storks buried their eggs
And two little girls are making broth
From sage, chocolate and cinnamon
When really it’s a pile of mud and a bunch of grass
A stick to stir the pot
Closer to a chopped trunk
than a pot –
Really
–
Feeding baby mustard water
it will swim in puddles
and change socks
Feeding baby mustard cookie
and it will climb into the sky,
becomes a pro xylophone player
or an olympic runner
–
Don’t let it burn your nose
from the power of its limbs
Collection : Argument with myself
What I did and didn’t (or you can’t forget)
I quit my job
I left my discount on hold
I left my account unattended
I didn’t call back
I went through the mountain on my own
I torn the curtains
I destroyed the television
I killed the mouse
I bumped into my past
I bumped into my last
in the street in the tube in the pub
I drank all the Ayran
I vomited the sour beers
I vomited the apple tart
from McDonalds
I broke up
I demolished my ambitions
I only do private tuition
I wore my Crocs
I worn out my Crocs
I cut my lips in two
This is what I’m capable of
I blew up my own parliament
I didn’t get caught
No one set me on fire
I said I wouldn’t see him again
until one of us die
You’ll miss my funerals
I’ll miss your first baby
and the second
Perhaps a glimpse of the third
under the red lights
one night of April
I fissured the mirror
I printed an issue of myself
Several issues
The first one is called The Crisis –
An Hymn to the Autistic Child
I walked under the bridge
on top of the rats and the rusty metal
I nearly slashed my feet
this is what you do when you’re sixteen
I slammed the doors very –
not that very
hard
I choked on the mackerel’s bone
I’m doing a side job
I’m doing an easy job
I’m not doing a real job
I’m doing a leftover job
I’m doing a scrap job
I’m doing a crap job
I’m doing a crumbly job
I’m doing a job you don’t tell anyone
I received a text from my therapist saying
I’m magic
I’m not forgiving
especially myself
I am a failure
I don’t count
I am on silence
I ran out of battery
I’m unreachable
I’m taking the bus
I’m forgetting who
I’m forgetting what
I’m forgetting how
You might as well be in Australia
From what I know you’re not here
with me
You might as well be fighting a spider
or a kangaroo
You might as well write me a letter
You might as well cry me a river
You might as well come back
and it’s too late
I grew out of my misery
You might as well be a cop on duty
You might as well be in Kosovo
You might as well send me floppy disks
You might as well come back
and I’m a damaged little soul
You might as well left me unanswered
You might as well called me a maniac
You might as well called me a nymph
You might as well think I’m unworthy
You might as well come back
and this is the least I care about
Oï oï said –
never mind
The beer make your mind sharper
The cold make you body shiver
I’ve been sneezed on
I’ve been cried to
I’ve been cuddled by
I’ve been looked down
I’ve been talked through
I’ve been everywhere
and everything
I can’t be angry
I’m infuriated instead
I hear the bells
saying
You can’t bang your head
You can’t punch the pillow
You can’t scream
You can’t say you hate yourself
You can’t throw the scissors on the floor
You can’t be mad
You can’t be sad
otherwise you gonna end up in the
so-called
so close
mental hospital
If you try to forget
forget your thoughts no –
that’s the only thing you can do
You can’t forget
The cheapest kettle on Argos
A terrific piece of pitch black plastic
adjusting to its new life
in an unfurnished flat
The limescale will be running
Like a disease
there is no vaccine for that
You’ve turned 30 a year ago
It’s tragic
The magic is dead
That’s the less expensive item
on the website and so
Black plastic
Tickle me
You twat
You what?
You clicked too many times
on the requested treasure
Just to make tea
oh you fool
You were simply thinking of
an un discriminative pleasure
Black plastic
You spaz
Spam
Like the meat in tin
Volage
Actually, the cheapest was out of stock
A Murder
They call it a murder
But no crow will harm me as much as an omitted breakfast of a snowy morning
When the warm oat milk is leaking from the cup along my frozen thumb, too numb
to press the doorbell.
But oh ah, imagine your face – and mine – if ever I had intruded your house
The stairs, the carpet soon covered by the white pain
To scrub at midnight when the foxes are foraging the garbage and drinking from the teacup
Look – there is a penny in the cup,
The fairies must have brought it from the land of apples
The same apples that fall from their trees, rotten
Consumed by the frenetic ants and the wasps
Filled with the venom that –
I got distracted
I was saying, the house, imagine
The roller-skates to climb over and the multiple doors to push until
Until I see the white body, meaty, of a lady
Is it a lady or should we serve her with the roast on next Thanksgiving?
You tell me, I’m not hungry anymore
I don’t have any merci left
The pastries are stale and the milk turned sour
My stomach is rising in my throat, asking for a place to rest
Outside my body outside the house
Would fly to another star with Elon Musk if he wasn’t that grim
Instead I keep it tight, need each of my organs together before I explode
All over the place
Will save the time by filling the holes the insects left in the walls
My legs are spinning like a mad carousel, are the kids on my back gonna drop like dead flies?
At least they would certainly stop waving at the wind
The bonfire
The bonfire is burning since 7pm. The faces of the men singing Sniper, are hiding in the shadow, left to find by anyone joining the night. You’re here, but no one notices you, you’re underneath the bright sun of the fire, you’re the embers. Grey and white, refined as a pile of burnt bones, a powder that the women would apply to their foreheads in the bathroom of a dodgy club in Essex. The bonfire is big, big enough for the whole village to dance around, the underage drinking from the bottleneck as if they were sipping breast milk for the first time. As lonely as a newborn you feel but oh, even a newborn is taking are of. Do you want to be a newborn? Opening your mouth to the smile and the milk. You never had the pure beverage, your mum was too tired, she said – I cannot. The embers cannot say I cannot. Their purpose as ashes is to celebrate the Leo getting up above Earth. Oh look at this majestic figure rising upon you, the face of the joy, that you can’t provide. I always thought that the great ashes would spoil the mood – am I wrong? You’re here, all grey and depressing, looking around, asking for anyone to save you. Do you think a sailor will come to pick you up? No sailor would be in any need of some dirty dust. He’s already trying to get rid of it on his dinghy. I was saying, the bonfire is shining and you can’t suffer it, you’re choking from the heat it creates. Think about it though, without you the fire would be a spark in the dark, a flame in the night and would be gone forever at dawn. But oh you, you want to last forever eh. You want people to rest their heads near you, when they had enough dancing and drinking. You want them to rely on you when they’re feeling the most vulnerable, when they’re asleep and can’t move their pinky toes. The bonfire is burning since 7pm. But you want to be significant enough to last until 7am. Fair enough, who doesn’t want that? The embers will never repose.
5 gr
_
Beside you I would hatch from my egg
A dinosaur egg,
adorned with an orange and white snake pattern
_
Beside you I would scrutinize the world like a meerkat
Do you know they have clear eyelids to protect them from the dust
while they’re digging?
_
Beside you I would swim into the silky canal at dusk
to catch the wee Spanish ball
_
Beside you I would lie down on the grass and
watch the royal poodle
or should I say the beauty dog
becoming a foetus
becoming a man on his back
_
Beside you I would be warm
under the curves of your eyelashes
long, so long, they cover me like a blanket
_
Beside you I would eat a chicken every day
and all the slushies of Clapton
_
Beside you I would turn into a giant
wearing 1 2 3 pairs of Crocs
_
Beside you I would be pregnant of my own life
and I would blossom
every morning
beside you
Il y a trois ans,
je peignais les murs, tu servais du whisky
C’était un soir de février,
la lune avait l’âge d’une grosse semaine
soit 8,04 jours
–
La honte a placé des coquelicots sur mes joues
et des épines de rose dans mon coeur
–
Tu m’as dit que tu m’aimais
Une exagération
tout comme on dit qu’on aime la
raclette
Ils vont et viennent ces mots
ils ne sont pas
éternels
–
Tu m’as dit que tu m’aimais mais ça ne compte pas
car j’ai fermé les yeux pour ne pas te croire