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.

8.30.10

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 your children's one
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 to my sandals

They refine the ground in a too brutal way

I walked and walked
Trying to find an exit

Searching
With my rather irritated third eye

A clean tissue to cry in

I thought a few hours ago
There were things like

Saliva

Bark

Mud
I am
Bottles

Barrels

Cans

Kiss me but be cautious

My polypropylene memories yanked my equilibrium

I thought we could

Eat

Drink

Shit

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

Forget
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

North

South

North

Bed

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's 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