Poetry & Reflections

  Le chant des colibris     Un monde immonde. Glacé. Des stalactites tombent des sourcils. Le bout des doigts qui frôlent. La solitude monte dans ma gorge. - un reflux gastrique qui brûle à l’intérieur -  Le s (a) ong des colibris résonant d’un vaste navire spatial d’où je me vois poignardée.    Les plus dangereuses explosions proviennent des objets de petites dimensions. Have you ever looked into a hummingbird’eyes?  I would like that you look at me through her eyes and see  A world wrapped in shimmering colours. au fil  du temps.  I feel  divided. In many places, languages. I am embracing the wide light spectrum and my/mes arms/armes  ont l'élasticité d’un boa  Ils peuvent dévorer l’amour tout entier s’élargir                comme une peau                   élastique    Du bâtiment qui pe...

  in Héro-Limite, José Corti, 1987. 

  Self-portrait                                                        Home-less, ex(s)tatic, in/out-land-ish.  Borderless, unfinished, fluid, afloat Un-                   trace-                                   -able                   Un (trans) late                   ...

  Iubirea mea  o  vază goală  Apa  Stătută Nu conține  Flori Nici florile nu  Mă Conțin  În frumusețea lor efemeră ----------Visul Atavicul Întunericul ce se hrănește din plămâni Tu mă respiri Tu -----------visul De ce plâng  Am totul De ce plâng Am tot ce mi se oferă Copilul nu se întreabă de ce plânge El trăiește durerea  Fără conștiință -----------visul Izbită de un perete  Din care se decojește varul În ochi se zbat pești E o limită fragilă între violență și dragoste Orice iubire e  Suicidară ———————————————————— Mi amor un jarrón vacío El agua estancado No contiene FLORA Tampoco las flores Me Contiene En su efímera belleza ----------el sueño La oscuridad que se alimenta de los pulmones Tu me respiras usted -----------el sueño El niño no se pregunta por qué llora El vive el dolor Sin conciencia -----------el sueño una pared De la cual se pela la lima Los peces luchan en los ojos Cualquier amor es Suicidio

           The Fall of the Rebel Angels- Bruegel  0.01 le Seraphin Flammes sur les âmes ataviques éthériques.  Leur chan(ce)son leur nom comme la merveille qui vieillit qui surgit du (Para)dis si si aque. Ac ac acrimonie de leur  vie de leur fin Le sera(phin) enchanté chante ‘hallelujah’ Hallelujah hallelujah 0.02 Jikaishin      La tempête pête des miettes  de temps qui ét ét  était/serait serré désaxé  Un axe qui sert à me mêla l’ange l’ange Mélanger les ailes- les linges d’un ange  Les élévateurs descendent comme les ailes, l’apa-apa-apanage de leurs corps  Qui nagent nagent dans l’air dans la mort. 0.02 Lucifer  Lux lux ferre ciel du fier fermé lumière de la ère la mis mis  misère le cor cor cordia cordial ‘miséricordia’ il en râle mais le ciel reste fermé avec la clé du lait noir coule  dans la foule des anges germinaux qui éclatent et qui tombent comme des chat chat châtaignes d...

I. Rouge est la couleur de mon âme. La flamme qui brûle, le s(o/a)ng. Rouge est la couleur de ma/mon p/eau comme la matière sur Mars-ars dicendi. Rouge est la couleur de mes yeux- l’éruption, la lave d’un volcan impétueux. II. M [ă] nasc din 黑暗 枯叶 启蒙 III. je rêve à una tierra nueva Où je peux recommencer de 0 La page blanche mallarméenne Ces pages où tu vois mon âme Par un magnifying glass Un glas IV. ...

                “The False Mirror” by René Magritte                          Poetry is breathing   Outside A half-bottle has been floating for weeks on the canal.  Inside  so much silence is crammed into one room, cut into pieces to digest easier. Outside  My lover cuts carrots and accidentally his finger falls. Inside exhilarated, a dog wags his tail over my wounds which open and open largely  erupting like volcanoes  with blood. Outside  a boy tiptoes on the thin ice  it breaks and his leg sticks inside. Layers of flaky skin  snowing, flashing  over the world. Outside  An eyelid  closes and opens, protects and reveals.  Outside  a spider’s leg in the window left ajar.   Inside. Intermezzo———— Outside  Waiting- keep a fish trap in one hand, a knife in the other. Never eat your trophy. Inside  s...

  How deep is the fissure? Cutting, unseen (Paul Demets) 1)    Specks of light fall on a  half-empty kettle. Hearts gently simmer lips glimmer on the margins  the gatekeepers are asking for  digital footprints to serve and  be served.   Again and again coffee pours in the veins. The distance between them is  extending on walls just like shadows. Nothing to say/to expect. Drink your tea, Drink your tea.   Half of her face still in darkness as if  covered by bluish ice. His painstaking smile becoming a circumference a performer paralyzed on the scene  clutching the microphone to his mouth.     He wanted to show her: sounds penetrating the organs  wrapped in seaweeds. Cross-fertilise  Eat your mind with your mind.   Metallic sounds drain in his clogged lungs, Sediments oozing from eyes, her image was the last one he scanned for. If he were to die at least He wouldn’t forget her capitalised name. A last vow...

 Mi ricordo di tutto: il suo corpo in oscurità  Un filo di luce sul il suo piede freddo  lungo e morbido Con questo piedino ha attraversato la strada per Comprarmi una caramella  Ho guardato a lungo le sue mani  Che mi tenevano  Comme una sigaretta  Non sapendo se fuma o no Alla fine Buttarlo a terra in una fogna

  POLY The only prefix That requires consideration  is ‘poly’ Everything that defines us  is poly Polyester  Polyamory  Polyglotism Polydipsia  Polyvalent Polytheism- The age of poly Crowds. Conglomerations In the city of Poly  sulphurous eyes close  wasp stings born from the night’s belly we burn our deepest ingratitude  and cry- such a terrible choir  we are poly, polyself  polymorth  plasticine our soul is  Nocturnal bugs  Before running amok, the bug looks in my eyes Transfixed, threatened, it stares and it stares  How many kilometres its look have to travel until it meets mine -just as we see the past by gazing up into the fur of night; an astral creature, a line of demarcation shapes as only smoke can curve. Could a bug feel   my body’s salinity. my sweat after squeezing a dead body wrapped in towels, antifungal creams and soot? -glistening eczemas on my skin with red protuberances -the obsolete world ...

Gone were the days when she lived by herself, with hundreds of books and the rest of paraphernalia of another world, all jammed in 28 square meters. Uncharted, munificent territories to explore. Now she enters the empty room through a smoke screen and looks at the leftovers she took: a smooth toothbrush, small debris of toothpaste between the bristles, a worn-out blue dress. She thinks: What a jest, what a jest, and here I am. Terribly alone. Terrified, yet unflappable, flustered. Hands folded, dry skin, eczema on her neck, tired and lugubrious dark eyes . She looks at her phone: it is bed time, sets an alarm. Nothing unusual, she could rest and think, think and rest. In 7 hours, he’ll be here. She thinks: He’ll come. Open the door, open the fridge, open the window- so many things to turn on and open except me. I am a glacial figure, boreal as I am, magnetized by my solitude, I am pushing the limits of my absence. I forget what his voice sounds like. Honeyed when laying in my arms, app...