Fragment #7

J'ai souvent du mal à viser aux toilettes

surtout quand, après quelques verres,

je suis un peu pompette.

Alors je pose mon derrière

au centre de la lunette

et fais ma petite affaire

en laissant place nette.

 

Quarks

Suspended minutes in that hall
-- Like particles of dust --
-- Ebbing, ebbing --
Busybodies of the void.
Those are people,
Passersby just,
Walking like androids.

Their pacing like compasses
Going wild in every direction.
Departured from all senses
Crazed, meaningless amplitude
Legs arching in unwise longitudes,
Strides like a polarised magnet
Repulsing any sort of attraction.

Love is e'er opposite where we face.
Love is that air we breathe
When we resurface
After a long time depth-gazing.
Floating in ether,
Forgetting, forgetting.

Gyring to the ground,
Uncatchable,
Music soft mirroring
The fall,
Echoing the friction.
Particles
To nothing bound.

People as fickle as feathers.

I used to think I needed a war
To die with honour
Or find out who I was,
My purpose here.
I would have started this uproar
Had I not seen you against that wall.
It is not your beauty which stopped all,
It is the look into your eyes
Which made wars meaningless.
This look you still have to this day,
Yet no longer war dwells in me.

The both of us have seen
The east sleep
And the faint sliver of light
In the west, on the train
Bound homewards
Where silence used to preside.

Often you wondered what given
Lit window would harbour,
What life unrolled behind it.
Once we saw a silhouette
Carrying a bundle of linen.
It might have been a toddler.

Unsearching your hand into mine
Already.
Love was found among the dust
All ready.
Nothing around us fussed,
We were just in suspension,
Two particles in suspension.

When I was single I used to rue every hour
That passed by without you
-- Long before knowing you --
Even when I spent the night with a her
Who wasn't you I was expecting you,
Looking for clues of you on other girls' bodies,
In the fold of the neck or of the pubis,
Where I would later rest my head and sleep.

When I talked about love
I clearly didn't know what it meant
Trying to sound clever
To look knowledgeable
Yet I had to balance all
With what you'd come to represent.

Often you seem like a part of me
That was amputated by some devil
Before I was born
And, drawn like some split electron
Bound to be one again,
We found each other in this hall
And still two were made unity,
Asymmetrical matter made ideal.

But back into that hall,
Where people pass
-- Bindles of mess --
-- Forever stumbling but
Unable to fall --
Even though you and I are trembling,
I take your hand and hold onto it.

Nothing else can mean more

than your hand into mine

Here because it was inevitable

a call impossible to ignore

Than your lips against mine

in this hall where all pass forgettable

us to dwell oblivious of time.