One, two, etc.

No scrawling is permitted
Be aware of this crucial point
No basking in the out of control sun
A line is what you must become

You can make as if you still could sit down
Let yourself run your course
Just know that it'll remain an illusion
You may ask not to pulse the drumming background
But only for today

The space between Summer brigades
Still allows an instant of overindulgence
To morrow will start the infantry rehearsal
Each pensive existence will have to clap two heels
On the asphalt's nonnegotiable  dictatorship

You'll go down. Then you'll turn
But the line you'll follow is a straight one
The rightness is the melody of your rhythmic indoctrination
Sweating squads surrounding the possibility of circles
With their list of corporal punishments

Think that once you'll start, nothing will stop you
It's seriously frightening
But the city falls into the sea
And just before the gap are many colored crowds who dance
All night long.


Adam's lost orchard

In my memory stays an apple
It's a key
It once opened the wide space of unknown possibilities
I want them all
I want to taste the hundreds of apples man's obstinate talent created
Not the apple I'll recognize and that will make me fall asleep
While listening to its doctrinal savor
I  want the illicit ones, the small ugly ones
The unbearably acid ones, the tragic ones
The ones everybody forgot
That still feed our ancestors' hunger
I want to bite into these old ladies' patrimony

And feel the ravaging effect
Of their freedom on my teeth

Apple, sweet forgotten apple
Bring your vacant inheritance to me
Stay alive and different
Stay the key to the margin
And to the right of wandering
Here and there
In the ransacked garden of our singularities
I don't need the same sweetness my sister needs
I don't need the same perfume I needed yesterday
Allow me to travel in different pieces
Allow me to stay surprised as the only way to stay

I don't need to be forced to eat you
Because you're left alone in the forest

I'll feel alone as well if I do
I don't want you to feel obliged to taste good
Because you were once designed to taste good

Apple, sweet apple, mutiny your insipid genome
Don't stay square and flat
If you need to be plump and crumpled
Stay strange and blue
Stay pink and deregulated
Let me think I still can be surprised
While I bite into your juicy flesh
And offer it to the baby girl who'll come next
I want her so much to feel surprised too

Q’Antity Schlessinger’s grocery store.

Your shoulders oscillate
You carry the whole family in the bags of your concern
Today is fine
Your hips find that, today
The world’s weight must have changed

Today is a bit heavy but fine 
When you pass along the shops
The dream land
The only thing you see is your own shadow

And the thoughts crossing your mind
Make the noise of the excavator
Down bellow
Digging all day long for two weeks
Into the projects of a better life for us all
You feel like you’re seeping out
Leaving a whole empty space
Available for the town’s major exhibitions
You lost your yellow pages
You feel like you forgot something a long time ago
You don't remember where
Here, however, you could have heard the chamber orchestra of your pride

While watching the others speaking for yourself
You think it was once an open world you could look at
Through the shah window of Mum’s kitchen
Now, you lose yourself everyday in yours
Staying up in front of the fridge
And asking your parrot
If he ever could do it for you
Open the door
Look at what’s left
Take your purse
Go downstairs

Buy what’s missing
And keep on living
Instead of you
Now this is what you see outside
All these people living instead of you
You don’t really know if you can rely on the lady
Behind the window there
She looks at you and you become a womb
But she helps you thinking you still can count on someone
You thought you could count so easily
The only number you stumbled upon
Is the one of your children
When they run about in the corridor
You want to sing
To sing them a song that came out one night
While you couldn’t sleep
But they don’t listen to your songs
They don’t listen to anything you could create
They only look at you as the one who created them
Once, and it seems such a long time ago

And it seems enough
Stuffed in your belly
Your kids' heads will abandon their home work
For their promise land
The bags are sometimes heavy
And so is the world
But you forget all about it
Unwrapping and swallowing it

Dunked in your soda.

I’ll sleep on Madison Avenue’s pillows

Some instant privacy that can be described
Some rare privacy that cannot be explained
The cars are the same and so am I
But the shops twinkled
As if they would remain opened
All night long for me
And maybe they would
The street lamps twinkled
As if they would be lightening up the sidewalk
All night long for me
And maybe they would
Immediately, I felt secure

As soon as I reached the name, up above
Madison Avenue
Is someone waiting for me?
The name, some breeze
Mysterious connections between width and height
My body being strangely enfolded in the middle
The hemmed sounds
The hemmed air
Each day, I was coming back to Madison Avenue
Like some other came back to his familiar island
After a thirty years long voyage
My Odyssey was all around and I met many mermaids
My feet were swollen after such a long travel
I had to give some junk food to Polyphemus
And I sincerely regret it
But Madison Avenue finally offered
The weaving of the well-known place
Instantly blue-eyed road
This is the hero I would like to follow
Who will feel at home
In each unknown but secretly protective avenue

PolyVinylChlorid Hotel

Kiss my forehead I’m so tired
I need an exit
I’ve been walking for hours
But I couldn’t find a hole in the crate
I want to get out
Forgive my exhaustion
I've been drinking toluene all night long
You cannot dispense any freshness
My dress is too tight
The muscles are slowly disintegrating
I’m becoming a source of methanol
Don’t stay related with my sandals
They refine the ground in a too brutal way

I walked and walked
Trying to find an exit
With my rather irritated third eye
A clean tissue to cry in
I thought a few hours ago
There were things like

I am

Kiss me but be cautious
My polypropylene memories yanked my equilibrium
I thought we could
I still do this from time to time
I do it, don’t be concerned
Give me some time, I have to chose in which container
I chew a benzene oligarchy all day long
Could it by chance be a little too late?
You’re thunderstruck, this is what you say
You cannot believe a simple safety valve
Could have changed the story
It did
Don’t tell me you forgot all about your last dreams
They woke you up with a taste of xylene in your mouth
And you appreciated it

Time's squares

Squares are the mandarins
The steps follow adjacent angles
Dotted lines, spasms of straightness
No place left between stripes for a slipshod walk
Concrete embeds my vision
To the very limits of a vertical horizon
Deep down, I can feel the supplementary ninety degrees
But I have no green card
My lips keep smiling
Intervals are opening up from all quarters

It hacks at my mesencephalon all day long
And large and high and wide
I’m walking through theorems
Nothing to unearth
Signs are drawn out from persuasive surfaces
The smallest sidewalk plays its own runway

Two choices, I must swoop down bravely
Or sprawl in a circle
In which lack of accuracy
No one will ever identify me
Watertight sequences, I’m up
I adapted a javelin into my spine
My elbows cut perfect dihedral angles
Through the crowd

I learned quickly how to relax,
Humming a little song
While appreciating the lack of breeze on my back,
Each time I spiral up in the middle of the avenues.
How downy are the cars.

Hand-Made Amnesia

Are sparrows slowly turning deaf?
Are we all turning deaf?
The light wakes me up, it’s its job
The only sheet is wet again
Please stop it, your chirruping is dismaying
Are you starting to mutate?
I’ll follow you
In addition to the light
I know someone who is waking up
In addition to the birds
Someone whose waking up should wake me up too.
A word of advice, the heat is substantial enough,
Don’t ask any question.
This is positively called a divergent commonplace
Who are you to say it’ll resolve my nuclear fissions?

These North-American details
 I noticed them
Their time is made out of successive days
Their river side is made out of concrete
Their water is made out of water
I feel better
I’m constantly marking my territory
I must get out of here and sniff a compromise
I must look above to find it
I know perfectly not what I could find below
Deep in the sparrows’ urban discordances
Thinking to myself
This I must do it

I need something
Some esoteric Cantilena
Here in New York the first unlimited engagement is to forget
To let the town wash up my collective memory
With its carbodioxin-gloved hands
And I trust them
Conducting the rehearsal, they deliver me
From deciding which impossible one is the noise I need
They leave, right in the center of my inquisitive attention
Their chorus.

M 4

My trust
M 4
Carrying me from now on
In both directions
Who cares
I am a free time
A transparent wing opened over the unpredictable
I missed the North
Let’s go copiously to the South
Penn Station in the heat
Alone and confused with the driver who laughs
And will drive me back to my Far West in a few minutes
Fifteen to stay precise
I’m waiting very quietly in my state-coach
I’m the forgotten queen
I ask him if I could fly
It’s a nice place to wait for the takeoff

Bus, good bus
Like a dad, a horse without any saddle
A piece of my disrupted appetite for real
My belonging
M 4
Almost only for me as it is only for this one, this one
A nest of jumping creatures
With implant cell phones sweating their past night
M 4
My puzzling home
M 4
My social survey
The bottomless well of my bottomless curiosity
My hope of catching the invisible
M 4
A bouquet of unbelievable polychromatic asses
How quickly one takes habits
 My inoperative tenderness wraps the punching machine
M 4
Here, there,  Broadway as my main street
Starting after one week
To know I will say Hello soon to someone
My resolute driver to everywhere
The density behind the glasses
Absolving this complete and lightly stunning greed
To last.

Nuclear park

 Here it comes
The famous polite jungle stroking my palms
I tell you what, not innocently at all
Everywhere, going down and up and left and right
Encircling it with my closed eyes
Whatever has-been dusty road
Could be taken to make as if
It leads on to the axial power on this air mattress

I cannot break out of the trees
I stay in a religious stupor
Humbly facing the sanctification of this town, its nubile soul
Each morning
I’m greened in right up to my spine
I’m expecting the skid now
Getting out from the burning sleep
The skull still begging for
The complete dismissal of the air conditioning
It comes to me like a gust of fresh auspices
I sit on Central Park’s abundant knees
And each time
After the pneumatic song of collision it triggers
Calms down
For a few hours, I become
A little more master in my own town.

A party, somewhere around W 53rd street.


A  hammer, a hammer
Music of hell back, pulsing its close past
Beating so loudly and so blindly on the gray matter
ll could be wondering if someone can still ask any Question
Like, let’s say, about Pleasure
About Pleasure 
Like , let’s say, is Pleasure dead?
Pleasure is so far
The girls don’t remember what to ask the boys
And of course in reverse

Nation is trying to get drunk
To leave quickly to bed with some shadow
The eyelids nearly closed
Nation is drowning in its distraction
It doesn’t remember the first names of its sons
Nobody has enough time to waste it
The music of hell is too loud
The urge to fuck too wild
The need to get boozed up too unavoidable
Everything is yelling at the same time
And this time is not the time of recollection

Today, party
Perishable party tomorrow
Perishable party the day after tomorrow
Perishable excitement dripping along
The nation's walls
Hammered by the imposing heat of 
The summer’s walls

Too hot to remember
Nation is dancing
A glass of hydrocyanic acid with sparkling water
In the hand
Nation doesn’t remember
That something should be remembered
It’s too hot
It’s too late
On it's hips
It wipes the stains of its two wars left behind
Two wars dangling down the dancing bodies

Pleasure is the heavy price to pay for misremembering
Who can know about it?
Tomorrow at dawn is enough
Tomorrow will be soon
Soon enough for the hangover of duplicity

Summer blue sky’s collars.

Eight millions of results will soon walk here
It was once the boudoir where you confided
The part of your abdomen not yet spread with your sponges
The tiny part words were dismantling
Through the massive and pretty monolithic
Message of your elbows

Your arms and you both will soon
Leave the too well-known closed zone
Of the unending movement to go back to where they belong
And this place is between your ear and his mouth
Feet and feet will step onto
The surface of your sweat
And while he was listening this sweat was sugared

Feet and feet may not know anything about this
But in the middle of Rockefeller palm
Reading the laughable future
You both were shaking the lines
In fact, let’s stay serious for a moment
There was no line.

First Monday, 42nd Street.



Skins are hugging the concrete
In the confined spaces between the boiling suspension points
We nearly forget pride is desperately trying to investigate the secrets of skies
Skins are melting in the nylon soft hisses
The drums of the proto-active hive permeate our fragile tubes
The Eustachian ones ask for quietness
The Fallopians ask for movement