Histoires, Poèmes, etc…

C’est pas ce que tu crois

J’aime m’asseoir derrière le rebord de la fenêtre de la chambre qui donne sur leur nouveau porche pour les épier à mon aise. Pete, le mari de ma voisine Beth, se vante de l’avoir construit en deux jours. Ça me paraît exagéré…

Vol de nuit

Territories of the mind I ponder while flying the length of France with memories too numerous to sum up…

Darling

These days, I wake up at all hours of the night, as if jolted out of sleep by some powerful force, suddenly wide awake in the darkness of the bedroom, heart racing in the chest…

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

I wake up in a jolt, disoriented, for a split second not knowing where I am, what part of the world…

J

to Jamille Alin Cucci

It should start with the ocean

and the sky

and the sky is maybe where it should start

starts are difficult…

Truth (1)

is you

you telling me of your late mother

also

the morning dew on your tangerine tree

Dortoir volant

Il avait onze ans et le sentiment déjà que la terre n’était qu’une escale, un lieu de transit où il ne saurait être question de s’attarder…

Corrido

Panhandling for handouts of hesitant smiles and crumbles of friendly gestures in the colonial shade of the murderer’s cathedral

Saying goodbye

Three moves is as good as a fire, I say packing up and already feeling the torque of my upcoming accelerated life coming up hard against every good reason not to go.

1979

Auto-stop devant la prison de Lyon. Il fait lourd. Pesanteur estivale. Un taulard me regarde de derrière les barreaux…

Stormy days

They shut off the island from the mainland, evacuated the last tourists and locked down the employee-housing building where I live…

Heraklio

Blinded by the Aegean light

the obvious decay of what once was at our feet

What I meant to say before you hung up

got a three-inch metal syringe sleeping in a tin box

discounted long-legged dreams by the bucket

often spy on you at night…

Moksha

With dawn comes the din and myriad smells of warm chapatti, fried kofta, fresh paneer, fouled latrines and scorched pavement over the sizzling hot griddles and electrically amplified voice of the muezzin

Being back

Entering town from the north

I watch your shadow slide in and out of the night

Water

You said to never forget

the name of our tribe

the anger of our race

Finding out

Perhaps we should forget what has become of us

to remember

instead…

How it is

“By day, fear; by night, terror.” Small boat lore…