Current Reads, Poetry, Translation Work


J’ai regardé la télé.          J’avais un Cola au bar.           J’ai eu quatre rêves de suite

où tu as bruler, avant de bruler, ou encore en feu.

J’ai regardé la télé.      J’avais un Cola au bar. J’ai bu quatre Colas,

Quatre rêves de suite.

“Hoppin John”

journal work, Poetry, writing

What’s the saying again? ‘If you boil a frog in water…’?

I ate cake for the new year.         I was drinking          I was an island.                                                                                                                                          Everybody somehow knew everyone else, they were all strung in lights and ice.

This part of town was somewhere I’d been before. I liked it, next to the women’s shelter. Those parts which were not burned. The paint yet to be retouched, left half-finished for lack of stamina.                          There was a memorial nearby, condemned to a background history       a heavy red curtain where one could hear movement but not see it.

Dark times.

A very dry winter,                        so short yet retaining a density which challenges elasticity;

a long, long piece of gum, strained and stretched very far.

I ate cake; yellow cake. It had that frosting on it, the cheap kind. So the caps were all off.  A toast to the New Year:            ashes to ashes.