Fear sets up a tent / on our chest

drip drop / port-au-prince’s life slips away

I abhor humanitarianism.

A precious oil meadow that churns out / Bent and Sweet Crude

Shame on your charade, Athena.

You breathe in the burning air,
 / your lungs fill with the air of the flute

I was more or less enjoying the daytime / I was watching grass sprout from cracks in the asphalt

we cross off dates on the calendar / waiting for salvation

So finally, atop the fender of a tank / lounges Walt Whitman.

For now I’ll just give it that name, repelling all water, still

All journeys explore this side of the atmosphere

I go to the four cardinal points looking for myselfin a procession with all the women I’ve been

If singing my love is loving my country, I am a soldier

Me and my language/ are worlds apart.

It's war/ when we meet

Damp earth, jasmine

I feel the promises impressed by your lips.I repeat the ringing syllables of your name

always the sea always / shameful the shameful ocean / bodies battered before touching the shore

The gecko got it right

Now chant. / Dêmos / Kratos

Smooth is the beach / Like the arch of my entrance / Refusing your doors.

The authorities insist they are taking / appropriate steps / to control the plague of zombies

Noisy animals can see Kafka’s castle in the valleys of the Musashino plain

I did not know that the earth / Is an unruly cradle

In which junkie’s syringe did you become trapped, my Homeland?

Her kitchen utensils fled after the last guest deserted her

A child would liquefy as soon as a snowflake touched the ground.

if a storm broke she collapsed in soot

the foxes who recognized her by her smell didn’t light their matches

Yet the storm announced festive disorder

The female branches made off with the laundry on our lines

The mother sent us out in the street naked

You close your eyes so as not to see/ How the cadavers hang from a kapok tree.

It's a heavy burnt-out lamp, tipped over in the cold.

all things in moderation and the moderation addles.

The neighbors dream of shooting me.

somewhat drunk he tap dances over the wet cobblestones

Throw the dice, Lord, your turn has inevitably come.

stalker-yesterday says slowly / my death has not begun

You’ll have no cause for complaint / You’ll be sated

thursday the man who invented death with his blood rested on a rock.

the honied bodies of whores / hold all the men.

Marie was alone there and showed the painter how she and Pierre / wrestled with radium

The earth (like the heart) leans back in its seat

The cold makes me / a lair from fear.

I try to be / kind to the children / so they’ll tend my grave

She says / she’s preparing herself.

A man in a pirate sweater / comes in through the door

A dog learns to run forward with a lighter in its mouth

perhaps they’re kindling the ovens at the crematorium.

You have all sucked at my breasts.

Mozart says / keep your eye on this Beethoven / he’s going to rock the world

Even god was still dreaming

We were quite bewitched and forgot to ask her what the afterlife was like

Up and down the hill the dead pass, patting the café wall.

Maestro, I said, tell me, / reveal to me the secret of poetry.

Because we lived in brothels / and in dungeons

That night / Of Greek drunkenness/ In a Berlin tavern

for one stray word / would mean the fall of kingdoms

He writes the way someone who is no longer impatient speaks.