disentangled from what ties, from time from space from people. 

 

seeing images of that little kid, hand in my hand,

walking around the streets, teaching him everything I know,

making him sleep every night with the stories which I constantly tell myself,

whispering that every struggle will come to an end. 

END~

cher catastrophe

sound is no more a sense
neither the light
nor the touch
even not the taste and smell
all One, in One, blended and bred

forming a rope from her belly button,
pulling constantly to nowhere
- which is everywhere -
with all her knives in the hand
with no sense
with all the knowledge

here she goes to the void,
her void, filled with words
those will be cut, blended and bred.


monsieur1

birthday cake

“crumble the pavement, crumble the clouds
crumble heaven and make it real”


here are these kids, two little gals
one with big white cheeks freckled
other brunette and noisy
descending down ladders together
hand to hand, step by step
white one was blessed with walls
noisy with banisters
switched the games
troubling themselves finding gleam.

monsieur1