Monday, March 27, 2006


Keep an open mind, but not so wide that your brain should fall out.
prof. Richard Dawkins

Sunday, March 26, 2006


la mise à nu des nuages n'aura pas besoin de la table de dissection.

le nuage est le plus éphémère au delà de l'horizon.

l'épine dorsale déchirée frileusement et ensuite mise en flammes.

la lourdeur des ventres, l'ombre, et le soupçon.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Friday, March 17, 2006


A good story must have been, some time at least, inhabited.

There are, it seems, certain things of which it is impossible to speak but in parentheses.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006


The president turns in his sleep and into his stupidity seep the images of burning people.
Robert Duncan, Before the Judgment

Tuesday, March 14, 2006


we must have misunderstood the order of things.

when i open my eye, you look at me. when you lace your shoes, i am speechless.

i stumble over commas as over coiled wires. their balancing act
startles me.

now that i've begun this sentence, i am terrified of coming to its end. and it does. over.

over. over. what is over, bridges. over here. it opens. survival.

the so-called celestial bodies stare at us with the knowledge of a world before our birth.

we always live at the end of our lives. always at the tip. it is unbearable. some are crushed by the weight of this end, dead, pending.

a premonitory forgetfulness floods the town square, and each street seems deeper because of it. the futility of lanterns alters the contour. i become unrecognizable at an arm's length. my fingers nearly grasp the horizon and pull it closer, scratching. my name dissolves until even you are unable to call me.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006


what do you feel when you hear your own name, your name pronounced by a voice, speaking next to you, to you or of you, calling you, demanding you live up to a name which you barely recognize as your own, you wear it on rare occasions...?

Monday, March 06, 2006


look outside, it is snowing, desert wars covered with snow. i have a hat and tall boots: it is hard to believe that nothing changed. or, look: it is snowing. nothing changed, and it is hard to believe that there is a war going on.

uncanny symetry of these worlds. mine, here, with the snow falling, and theirs, with falling men.

trite metaphors will take us nowhere. the repetition of the verb "falling" does nothing to bridge nightmare and routine.

you better believe it. routine nightmare. of "necessary sacrifice."

we have electricity as we used to. a morning shower and an espresso. and even the wireless works.

in my dream, someone, or something, is tearing bodies apart, a savage force ripping human limbs. a head falls and stares straight at me.

i want to say, like a page torn out of a school notebook and lying crumpled on the floor.

but it is dark already and my mouth is gagged.

write poems on porous paper and use it to patch wounds.

Thursday, March 02, 2006


dans mon oreille, des si belles...