Network of railroad
Network of chatting
Backs turned on the goal
Backwards journey
The voices
The details that have melted outside
The details that heat slowly inside
Delivered to the good will
Of the rails
Small belongings of migratories
Warm, gathered under the constant vigilance
Of possession
Still dance in the smooth hollow waves of the speed
The car following its roar
And taking us into its shadowing
To sleep
To dream
To wait until the neighbor's voice sinks
In the silence of the noise of steels burning's din
So anticipated
Closing doors on all what we have left
Cut aways
From the back, from the front

One forgotten month in 2010



The bay remains open, day and night
The pulses beat steadily, the nape of the neck focused on its ellipses
Everything is sweet. Everything is sweet
Kept fresh by the insatiable curiosity that undresses the world
The accounts were done, redone by zeal
Here it is, we arrived

Here it is, this lack of impatience
The certainty that the wait was only a sketch
It was about profiling the matter of time
Knuckles tightened on the job
Always skimming the not quite of the idea

Yet the bay remains open, day and night
From the bottom of drowsiness and amazements
Still resonates and probably forever
The groundless little call
The vain request and the sparkle it had

April 2016




Day after day , I will yield the top of my skull
Down into the deepest of its nakedness
Day after day my asceticism
The lashing virtue of accuracy
In the ocean of unnecessary particles
The floods, I will keep wide-open eyes under the salt

Whatever might it cost of soft'n sweet
The nearly cheery fatal choice is settled
On defying the illusions and watching, discreet
The rare flickers of the axioms
Asserting themselves as the beat time of  sacred fears
The blue mover of doubt

Nothing will ever be penetrable
Of the other's simulacra
But to keep on opening the arms
With at the bottom of his flight, the wish to hear a call
Day after day I listen from afar
To the yawns of boredom under the bark  


April 2016

The Place


As I hear, hear what I expect
A quietness that benevolent hands have woven around the sorrow
The arrival to the fold of the subdued ideas
Leaving to the world the drooling and envy
A landing point at the heart of the trial
Matured, matured during the long distance journey
In the hold of my patience

I know this accomplished
Of so many hours maybe the end

Resounding for so many years
In the timber of importance
The paltry is elsewhere
Here the voids are made up, here, only the presence
Of the one who has seen through me and still wants me
Taken on the thread of age and amused

I'm definitely here
Without hesitation
After weighing the evidence
A fetter that will never succumb to the bite of any time
That keeps me tied up to my old sacred vow
The incorruptible contents of such a bond

The unique. The indomitable

April 2016


A tear on the fabric of destinies
No look on the right more than ahead
Nor less
One waits without moving the sign, the finger snap of calls
Where once in eternity, the other would give me his courage
Take my pastels between his knuckles and mingle them
Tell me about me, tell me

A blank on the lines shaded with letters
A wait hardly visceral, rather quiet
As an open bay for some long opportunities
Some blows of fate, some surprising ringtones
Something that places me
In my place
And I will approve

A loss of insight
About what to do with oneself
The directory is heavy with potential possibilities
Without frenzy as well
And the finger points only towards the indecisive
Of the design

Tomorrow, she says
And the day goes and she does not come
Where one could expect her
Because she does not know it
The sweet attraction of taking flight beyond

March 2016

Political hens

Branches weighed down by the wait
Arrogant winds
Difficult learning of the harvest
And of the mysteries asleep in the humus
Gleaming dawns
Grotesque dawns
The silence

The silence moved by scrapping noises
By the impatient wings of rare birds
The silence that unfolds
And the one that listens
A stunning line of revival
Available for who wants to forget oneself

Releasing the hysterical sounds of exhausted worlds
Closing the doors
Not relying on anything but the precise rythm of the nights
Plaiting the politics in the hands of the one who waits for me
To wrap up the fallback dreams

 In the morning, crossing the courtyard crunching with frost
Followed with the bastion of hens
Innocent, the hens, faithful
Golden gallinaceous birds that expected me as well
And whose secret lives I measure up, delightedly.

Marsh 2016


We already waved our handies
Hoping to draw in the indifference of the air a sign that could hook us
We slightly agitated the arms for precious hugs
And the heads to give agreement
We advanced with measured steps
Half sitting, half standing up
 A bit turned back to avoid the puddles
Where we had looked into each other's eyes, before
We believed in it because it is useful
We had little to fear because we said it all
Long and bitter thoughts of an ungrateful love
We had healed enough in the angles
But the water is not always fresh
Neither salted the sea spray in the distance
Open the unnecessary and the unachievable
The unscrewed hope and the cautious knowledge
We say maybe not
We remain cordial and cold
We say that it's too late
That this time this will be for an other time

Marsh 2016


From wing flap to door slam
The roads of access intersect
The old tracks have been abandoned
There are still traces of my blood absorbed by their asphalt
What is emerging has the shape of a legacy
I have had written my will far too soon
Not knowning how to bequeath what I could assert
Not defending what I could give
I did not know yet how to read
I did not refuse well enough
The insolence of possession
Neither the negligence

February 2015

Moonlighting Hands

Some waves over there
Crossed lines on an indefinite horizon
I learned to throw words in silence to you
I throw you words away
The same that
Around my waist used to float as a buoy

Against renewed drownings
I hear them fall in your foam
And then I wait
The wire is taut, the wire is hard
The desire to grip it between my tenacious teeth
I measure you in terms of your confession

Do not let grow
Against transatlantic scaffolding
The bindweed of anticipation
Let me evaluate myself
Let me keep my secrets
The story is exuberant
My memory saturated

We will see
We will see one another
Probably to adopt us better
Without recognising one another
Condemned to be for ever taken by surprise
Let's undertake once more
The premises of babblings

February 2016


It was the night for several days, with, on the horizon
The imprecise movements of epitaphs
The efforts of your attention had focused more on what seemed to follow you
Which nature you did not recognize
Your nature, stale, it was
As volatile as the sparse schedules
Which you clung yourself to
Everything had to appear to go for the best
But how to go there you had forgotten
The steps tied themselves up
Only certain of their support on the ground
And the ground sometimes missed
Bad weather
Bad bite in the abdomen
The days no longer raised, it was not worth the trouble
Elbowing your way through the thickness of an endless evening
Then waiting to check if this was where you had to go to
And giving yourself up with in the throat a taste of bringing up too
The car was running
You were the car
Your hazardous thoughts filling the cockpit
You made this trip
Surprised when suddenly
A uniform stopped you
Asking you how in this dark night
Without any headlight turned on
You could see where you went along.

February 2016

Combustible Wrath

To which waterfall will I have to give myself up
For the fire to be engulfed?
The eruptions are rare, the lava is numb
Only a strange irritation cements my jaws
The idea of a tale
calcinated by its own impropriety

The bowels ensure their punctual comings and goings
But under them crunches the shear of the fangs
There are some immeasurable errors over time
Some inconclusive aberrations
Except the oblivion

But what oblivion when where the forgotten memory is revived
Is the very place of the affronts?
A rebirth in the furnaces of wrongs
The Cosa Nostra of the upside down dignity
And the suspension of time

Shall the scale of a new adventure be the nitrogen of this flame
Slowly erases itself from its necessity
Shall an other forgets in my place what is ignifiable for me
The baroque outrages and the outrecuidances
The flame of the soldier of unknown promises

Shall an other step resonate at the entrance of this second-rate hell
Where the lead soles of lies hammer
The despises and the impossible mourning of retaliation
Shall an other for who he is
Release inside of me the wet jets of ignorance

At last, the warm jets too

February 2016

Trade Winds Awaking

During these few mornings, effortlessly, fainted The Old Testament
That I had read up to burn the pages, on the angles
And that accompanied me with its gravity on waking
The time,  ritualized up to its depths
In the erasement of its flow

Then, so, without really taking care, has alleviated this fold
And the entry in the hours has taken without my knowledge
The somewhat outdated rythm of waltz paces
A new access of candor?
Mouth closed, I hum holding my breath

Of course the weapon is still wet under the pillow
And the scansions now so insignificant do not prevent to look behind
Ahead however is so made
That I am now in after
And that, at the dawns, I do not believe it

February 2016