a repeated gesture
in the shadow of the species
what would it usually be
in a moment our mouths
if we could make out
my side our side
in the hollows of living languages
relieves matter or emptiness
anger or me or you
who did not say melancholy
at point-blank range
in the sounding of time
characters and carapaces
the whole dream
the capacity for dialogue
to dream in the midst of toujours
uproots presence instead
today the unnameable
dispels the idea of classifying
humanity in its multitude
and salty vertigo
at the edge of the abyss the business of hope
all that i’m watching for
inwardly we say raw consolation
bush of traditions embracing the cities’ youthful names
sprout of feline strength
let’s stay close to our roots
proficient with knots and ardour
barking wanders
we are here to speak
in the multitude of wounds
mouths and clean-sweeping pronouns
in the darkness an intoxicating
slowness and immobility
the hand’s movement
the aerial movement of intoxication
pastel soul tint
let’s try to side with the sobbing
immerse our ardour
in questions and cherries
this way of staying in the shadow
scarlet mouth bursting with names
today
i acquiesce
let’s make time for torment
eyes yearning for the wind
when it is necessary i age
in verbless sentences
attentive to the rocks’ pink profile
before the sea
and all the oxygen, the archives
there will be there was
always ignorance
who should i embrace this morning
between changing affections
and the hard pits of words
in the braille of scars
tonight can i suggest a little punctuation
circle half-moon vertical line of astonishment
a pause that transforms
light and breath
into language and threshold of fire
a desire to bite into abundance
of sincere selves between books and screens
i say so to hold on until morning
with clipped words
at dawn an ellipse raised like an eyebrow
let’s awaken night in its familiar curve
awaken gestures as if we’re about to enter
history and cafés
at full speed seeming powerful
we escape time
vanishing point embedded in our mirrors
rare are the books that sweep across
the back of dawn
from a word
small horizon of pain that tramples
small click rose flavour a single question
between kisses
now no one can clearly recall
the colour of silence
before the alphabets intersected
and the former purpose of melancholy’s curtains
with no one around murmuring
or counting the bones the cruelty
by instinct i roll in dark matter
i smooth the heat
in nature, crab claws
urchins ready to roll on in fiction
at any time of day and in darkness
silence of starting again
then i find myself turning my back on the planets
depending on the sounds of intimate speech or to say
farewell following the light
schools of sardines of dolphins of sharks
struggling with dawn drowning i find myself
retracing the flow of time
gaze blurred
by the breakneck speed of the universe
and embraces i wanted
to chart slow responses
the true obscurity of absence’s gaps
to translate in circular dreams repetitions
the horizon line
for each generation
what fascinates
if not repetition
the same us divided
among the paradoxes
of art and the illiterate density
of hands and guns
dark cell
knife to the throat
the world carries on
we bid each other farewell
eyelids slowing
between apparitions
so i’m not getting used to the darkness
of soldiers and archives
i don’t know in what order
to recount civilization’s opacity
the grey taste of excess consumption
what can i say not to harm
the future and not to trample beyond
let’s go: old abyss of the horizon
torrent of griefs and sparks
the voice regains its rhythm on the threshold
of immobility
my nature between two sentences
how to appease with a single gesture
whoever cries fully in darkness
toward what angle of destruction are we going
to remember to lift tenderness
night’s curtain
a diagonal before forgetfulness?
the sea fused with salt
in the neverending night
beyond all narratives
we also call
sound of beauty the silence
its slow signature at the bottom of dawn
centuries of metaphor would go
on the same impulse be stranded ashore
on crumbling landscapes
our muscles suddenly trembling
to recall the word of mouth
old language trotting
in the coolness so long sought
in eternity’s paragraphs
menu fragment of hereafter
who are we
to desire still
across metaphors of collision
contrasts in fleeting silk of dawn and joy
to say devour or burn
directly from our pink existence
it’s not wise
to join a civilization
of butchers and inquisitors
of course, there are the missing
women who loved
children, museums, olives
our civilization a little
but above all hope with its
paradoxes and perpetual life
of course all that’s in the future
i must imagine it sincere hands
undo it, start again
not so much rage or death
vertiginous slope
in the middle, life, grand cru
my core drowned among syllables
and believe to light thus
the fecund slope of the other me
her arms tireless with creation
and its vocabulary full of debris
who then wants to drown the carcass
a great cry, not the night
always the fervour of culture transforms
the species within us, deploys it
speech recumbent in our joints
from far away we say: that’s the planet
thousands of works backs turned to night
thousands of unclassifiable gestures
in the oceans’ depths and in the contours of war
thousands of bodies and we want abbreviations?
but i am vast
when all is pounding slaughter within us
with the idea of kissing
and in the head tirelessly
humanity humid hurricane
such opulence and its abyss
we are still there book in hand
it’s afternoon, we should
speak of the present in miniature
reflect on the details
human remains or abundance
acquiesce if someone trembles
it’s insensitive
to ask these questions
of memory and the absolute
it’s insensitive
to drown in dawn
as many faces
and breathing
in light time
all this violence that comes
to the tips of fallen arms
it’s the least of things
to say see you tomorrow comparing
the century and collected nights
let’s start again: i’m flexible