1

      it’s a quiet Wednesday

       no one clamours

       light reaches the body

       coils round the wrists

       darkness held in custody

       2

      softly we talk

       of slipping toward the brink

       disfigured

       far from humanity

       3

      in the morning I’ve a number in my feelings

       an eye of second person plural

       a notion with me fed by emotion

       by animal kingdom and by azul

       4

      now you watch out for the commas

       that erase and raise the night

       now when the time comes you caress

       a sheet of water and its logic of conflagration

       5

      I say what they say

       about not telling lies

       it’s infinitely

       risky, and we breathe

       6

      one hour before summer

       night had a body

       as in certain phrases

       at the edge of the universe

       7

      language I’ll say yes

       from the top of my rib cage

       language will you come

       out and unearth the salt the certitude

       The Use of Tiny Vertigos

      whoever still insists on clinging to the real

       to stammer in the repertoire

       of guns and the serial loops of others

       upright our body doesn’t think any less

       sea, hunger, the mysterious manoeuvre

       of air and its fabulous leaps in the chest

       at the speed of shadow

       to break free of the self you have to toe the line

       between centuries and galaxies celestial hopscotch

      our mythology of millennial night

       a few names of beasts with hearts ripped out

       fruity transparency of our sexes

      it all breaks free of the self alive too brief

       The Inside of Someone

      I say the inside of someone not knowing

       out of what muscle bone or ligament

       if it’s a line of horizon in the brain

       or knots of night in the throat

       not knowing if it’s tender

       or vast word with a name

       The Inside of Someone: version2

      first an idea of darkness

       then I have hands

       a few syllables jettisoned

       but rough tide of morning returns

       and the inner world is outspread

       with shores of organic silence

       The Inside of Someone: other version

      okay so it’s thick

       with images of slow skiffs and cliffs

       in the midst of dead languages

       okay so too much absolute crashes in the gut

       The Inside: version3

      even if no one’s there

       the essential rolls eager with innards and infancy

       draws its own lines of life

       anecdotes not quite cannibal

       even in the absence of pronouns

       the essential absorbs the heat

       of the frescoes of frenzy and confession

       The Inside

      without lux(ury) language strains unbearable

       so I move quick

       if we slow down if we erase I insist

       I’ve just got to juggle

       elsewhere slowly soaking softens me

      come on narration I await

       your indiscreet questions