homeward bound through fire and rain i


don’t know how much longer i can stay

“The most important thing my mother ever told me was

awake : car curtained black by a night unsheathing raindrops

“every day I make a choice

running down the window like they’ve got somewhere

“to love you. When your child is born you don’t love

to be : smiling red orange green orange red through their

“them automatically ’cause you can’t love someone you don’t know.”

tears : my fingernail into the skin over my rib

“I don’t know. I think it’s a part of your body at that point; you want to keep it

cage : my heart is inside but i know that is not

“alive and well.” — “No! You’re wrong! It’s been scientifically proven –”

where the fallacy that is feeling lives

“How can you scientifically prove a thing that doesn’t exist in the first place

is living

“like love?”


Image credits in order of appearance:

“Regentropfen auf einer Fensterscheibe in Hockenheim.” By AnRo0002 – Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=46197764

“Santa Rosa, La Pampa, Argentina.” By Juanedc from Zaragoza, España – “Noche de lluvia en el falcon” Uploaded by juanedc, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27828377


Beethoven drowned out


and i don’t quite yet understand

if the hill rolled down from the crown of my rat’s-nest head

to the cancerous colors of my t-shirt

and past —

or was it outside the body,

a whiff of the words that crab-hold my neck’s-nape and follow

un-run-away-able between

the library and the 7-11 where Beethoven

bawls to blot out the whited-out

blood from years ago

or was it

outside the mind, an implosion

of microscopic moons clignotant on one calligraphic-tusked eyelash:

spine of a universe Other than our own,

or why

was it

you did

this, cut


past and left me to exist

in air indefinitely

though cut happened my absence is


and i was never ever absent

and once you even said i was


like the stars we are seeing now

though blinked to blindness long ago


Image credits in order of appearance:

“Čiurlionis Deluge.” By Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis – cyfrowe.mnw.art.pl, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34772242

“Arrested-Expansion.” By George Grie – Own work, [1], Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3298456


Les Souliers des oiselles

Version en anglais plus bas/ English version below


Mon amour, je l’ai cloîtré

entre les pages glacées

d’un vieux poème

que personne ne chercherait.

Les oiselles d’une bleue Bohème

m’aiment  — tant que m’appartiennent

leurs souliers. Chez mon théorème

tant que les glaciers

restent illettrés mes rimes

sont en fait les tiennes

approche-t-on de cette sirène

afin de savoir qui amène

les âmes (qui n’existent pas) au treizième

ciel d’un bleu poème?


tu sais,

l’on s’aime.


Traduction approximative en anglais/rough English translation

My love, I cloistered it

among the icy pages

of an old poem

no one would be looking for.

The birds of a blue Bohemia

love me — as long as I’m the one who owns

their shoes. According to my theorem,

as long as the glaciars

remain illiterate my rhymes

are in fact yours

shall we approach this siren

in order to know who leads

the souls (which don’t exist) to the thirteenth

sky of a blue poem?


you know,

I love you.


Images dans l’ordre chronologique/Images in order of appearance:

“Bell (‘Bourdon’) from Notre-Dame de Paris, in the South tower.” By Author: Tristan Nitot (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY-SA 2.5 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/GNU_Free_Documentation_License

“Armand Guillaumin, View of the Seine, Paris, 1871.” By Armand Guillaumin – RgH8FUR7VhkyKg at Google Cultural Institute, zoom level maximum, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29804620

“Frank Boggs – Quai a la Seine, Paris, au Clair de Lune.” Frank Myers Boggs [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons


  1. Tais-toi is a French imperative expression: “be quiet!” Usually it would not be conjugated in the first person singular form, tais-moi, which I have done here (rule-breaker) to indicate asking (a part of) oneself to be quiet.
  2. L’on s’aime, or on s’aime (the l’ is only added to prevent collision of vowel sounds between words in context for ease of speaking) is an example of a French phrase with the pronoun on that cannot quite be translated into English. It can mean “one”, as in on s’interroge sur la philosophie (“one wonders to oneself about philosophy”), but it can also be a more detached/vaguer alternative to “I”, “you”, “we”, etc., as in on est prêt? (“Are you/we ready?”)



Octopus rising

from the frack in your mind

Is it surprising

How much muck it will find?

You flooded with oil

Your own neural ocean

Your skull, hardened soil,

subducts into motion.

Octopus rising

From the stitch you unfrayed

In carving your name

With a flag-spangled blade

Octopus rising

A silentious din

The monster realizing

The monster’s within.


Image sources in order of appearance:




This post is inspired by the movie “Pacific Rim,” wherein there is a breach in the Pacific oceanic plate and giant animalian creatures (called kaiju by the humans) are escaping from another dimension and attacking the surface world. I find it interesting to think about what events might look like from the point of view of the kaiju — are they perhaps coming now because humans have basically begged for it by dumping hot acid into the ocean? And what happens in their brains as they interface with humans, when they destroy them, when humans destroy them back and destroy their own cities in the process? Let’s hope that our world doesn’t need to reach that point of violence in real life for us to stop appealing to the toxic underworld gods with offerings of spilled oil and oceanic acid.

the stillness of nothing

My brain-case is a concrete jungle

Shrieking hissing roaring with mumbled abstractions:

The faithful peck-pecking of last night’s jaw-clenching

mingles with the inebriant


of the bowling-pins down

my sinuses carpeted

in wrinkled caterpillar cloth;

The grateful resolutions of tritones on white-light screens,

the lexical mosquitos crinch-gnibbling

at the netting over my worn ear-

-drums ear-

-drums bangling,


jangling until

the drummers themselves

are only still doing this out of habit,

the way a body might rise from bed

and release matter and consume other matters

— all this in the absence of the mind — which,

left behind on the concrete pillow, keeps

trying to abstract the concept

of a theoretically possible