who plays god in your head what secret screams in your sleep what is your real name In the wonderful mess of her mind albino plants are nests for hugtandalfers and she uses astrolabes as haute teacups. I’m a manuscript buried in the depths of Bibliothèque Al-Imam Essayouti waiting for the hands that will come … Continue reading Persiflage
I named the fox ‘Kafka’ because he is irrelevant and because he tosses around a lot in his sleep. It can be annoying. I had never imagined foxes get nightmares. These days we sleep together, the fox and I, in my trailer by the loch. I call it a loch but that is since I found … Continue reading The Loch
This story features mature content and sexual themes, including explicit language and offensive, politically incorrect terminology. All characters, locations and events in Feksmeker are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Views and opinions expressed by characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author. Feksmeker I believe that the universe … Continue reading Feksmeker
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In the East someplace there's got to be a temple where devotees of the wind spend all the day silent secret as bees, deaf as a man underwater or man-under-train, gasping for breath far from our European capitals and the noise of life, continually resonating through our screens like traffic; stuck and static, occasionally an … Continue reading Temple
The first time he really got me. I unlocked the door, unexpecting. And there he was, waiting, with the eyes of the devil. Next thing I knew a barrage of tiny fists flying at my face. He had small hands like that, but furious. I was taken aback. Retreated into the corridor. One of his … Continue reading For the Sake of Eustace Jones
Three Love Poems & a Song of Limerence I I always find myself talking about love when I talk about you. hanging out with Stendhal proved illuminating, but not as much as an evening in with Dorothy Tennov & the limerents it turns out I knew all along what fuels the quotidian & I am … Continue reading Three Love Poems & a Song of Limerence
recent ly I chat with the sky mostly I don’t want answers re love you see and thank fuck atheists don’t find god in corners like First & Amistad our suicide rates are significantly higher only because statistics are unable to weigh subtler notions, such as quality of thought. Even though falling for you made … Continue reading Age of Carnivores
Ecclesiastic lovemaking this morning I think of basilicas & thyme in other eras thoughts thalassic I’m thirsty for balconies, dawns, anything that churches the unimaginable. * Some nights I’m handsome most nights I’m frantic at night I watch the foxes … Continue reading To Sink My Teeth Deep into the Sun
you smile exactly like a pagoda hurricanes reach speeds of 200mph and God is extinct in bed I’m the anarchist no borders & my talk complete asyntactic instead you’re an aspirin without the g, my you’s are reserved for poetry hurricanes smile exactly like you God reaching speeds of 200mph and pagodas are extinct to … Continue reading Let’s never talk about love
Tommy lay in a hospital bed, feeling with his tongue the place in his gums which a day before hosted three teeth. His smile would never be the same again. Nor would his left side, though his broken rib would eventually heal. That's what the doctors said. But his heart, oh would his poor heart heal? … Continue reading ♥ A Touching Story: A Proper Ending ♥
Tommy was eight when he met Emma. Emma was six. The year was 1987 and the place of their first meeting was the local playground of their neighbourhood in Surrey. Neither of them would remember the scene, but their parents overheard them exchanging love vows surprising and unexpected for children their age: ‘I love you-u-u,’ … Continue reading ♥ A Touching Story ♥
My grandfather shot a flamingo once. Why? I have no idea. But I swear by all that I hold sacred: this story is true, despite it featuring in a literary context. The reason I’m narrating it isn’t to have my grandfather put in jail; no, I do love my grandpa. And jail is an unlikely … Continue reading Mercurial Temperaments of the Flamingo Murderer’s Soul
The catechism of rain on your window that continues undeterred is me a narrative of weather on my own whether read or water transparent a current, parent to words and enraptured your cultured the vulture that eats up my heart coup d’ etat in my stylar frieze other women are electoral bees and your eyes … Continue reading What I talk about when I’m silent
Look. How light unfolds over our tongue. How your tongue is my tongue. How language gives birth to winds. Always. It always rains when I’m born. I. Belligerent. Limerent. Languid. Indolent. If you cut me open you will find a sun. Capture it, rupture it, fritter it. Gather the pieces. Unite them, I am here. … Continue reading Gospels of the Night
Bir buluşma yeridir şimdi hüzünlerimiz. [It is a meeting place now, our sadness.] — Edip Cansever, Meduza ...I wake up. I make coffee and look from my apartment at Bosporus. I've been training my eyes to see across continents, and my small words to hold much inside. For when Time comes empty-handed and people are little … Continue reading Istanbul
There were flowers in the fridge. That is, not flowers but flowers-to-be. You see, Garth used it as a growing place. Said some seeds need lower temperatures to spring forth. The idea seems peculiar in its own right, I know; yet if you had a picture of the apartment, it made sense. There were flowers … Continue reading The Man with the Flowers
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. — Shakespeare, Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5) She must have had an accident, because from my window on the upper floor I see the man with the shaved head rolling her down to the lake in a wheelchair. This happens every morning at six, … Continue reading All Your Yesterdays
It all started when my voice couldn’t get out, like a bird trapped in a velvet cage, as Erica refers to my mouth, ‘cage’ since I don’t converse much and ‘velvet’ because my lips must be baptized in incense, she says, to grant her that sensation which she describes as tender and valuable, but in … Continue reading I am the air
The mornings here possess a quality that strives to make you strong. The hours that wear your face always follow me about and I know them the blankets of my soul. Translators’ loves last forever like their wilful mistakes. My silence needs no license and my tongue is my appliance and my heart is a … Continue reading Unlost
Αύγουστος ’13 Ποια εξουσία σαν Ποίηση ασκείς πάνω μου θηρίο πολυμήχανο ο έρωτάς σου ίδιο κινέζικο μυθιστόρημα κορμί μαγνητοφωνημένο ουρλιάζει στο παράθυρο του ονείρου μου να βγω. * Και βγαίνω. Ντυμένος την Παράδεισο για να σε δω με βήμα ηλεκτροφόρο και πέλμα τοξωτό … Continue reading Κοιτάζει ανατολικά η θάλασσα
In the afternoons, when the world became silent, Gilbert rose from his sitting place at the veranda, opened the kitchen window a crack, hid the entrance key under a small mat on the sill in case Scott visited, and climbed carefully the stairs to the attic of his old house. The door protested; it creaked, … Continue reading Come Again
I believe time is a machine I believe it will once break there is a good service on all London Underground Lines. In my blood begs the city in my blood runs the city there is a good service on all London Underground Lines. The winter has been pain the winter has been wise there … Continue reading Waterloo
Once, I wished you were so tiny I could hide you in the cavity of my tooth. Now there’s nothing mysterious in China coupling the heat the day could be most treasured our secret endeavour. For you I’d quit smoking and become a Paul Eluard air fresh ener, I am so so simple, all I … Continue reading Lines you may use to win me over
Almost, like fish dreaming like Alexander Graham Bell like the wind’s caprice beating haircut directions, scattering DNA strands in the cool of the universe. Like cinnamon stirred in coffee charred by Time I came, spaceshipping my voices rifting, shifting the pen like a dress … Continue reading The Sea’s Birthday
you’re the kind of beautiful that lurks under the tongue & i’m this black glow waters assume when you’ve had too many a whisky and you’re walking the promenade at night i wonder what the point is if i fall in love with you so easily and you enter my sleeping habits so effortlessly like … Continue reading Retroflex
palmfuls of time & with eyes containers of seasons i realize i’m moving out, moving in, same thing the room that was me and me that was room spaced out = legs outstretched amid all that lives in drawers & on cards i collect of hotels we stayed in; flood the floor: moments disjunctive, memories … Continue reading 2 bedroom flood to rent
Να ντύνονται οι νύχτες τη μορφή σου, κι εσύ να μην το ξέρεις. Ν’ απλώνει ο ουρανός το σχήμα σου να πάρει, και να μη φτάνει. Κι εγώ πώς να στο πω. Όλο σκοτάδια να υφαίνω, ρούχο να πλέξω το κορμί σου, κι όλο γυμνό το βράδυ να με βρίσκει. Δεν το ‘ξερες; Εδώ βαφτίζει … Continue reading Πέμπτο γράμμα
the days aren’t days aren’t todays wrought smiles opening up like easter intestines under the sun and the sun isn’t a sun isn’t your son isn’t the sum of light a planetary body frantic revolving or an aviary folding inside all our words that flew- the eyes aren’t eyes aren’t I’s aren’t you and I … Continue reading flight
when it nights rum me sense less forbid me any chance to converse break my teeth if need be. Deafen me render me thoughtless- actless for a night a fortnight or a forty nights So that I don’t have to read about shelling, assault over borders, artillery hitting tar gets near the skin of human … Continue reading Frantic as a child in a room that’s bombed from the outside.
I went to buy new glasses today the old ones witnessed too much the specs assistant said these are funky I asked do they also PMS he didn’t get the joke he doesn’t know you he stared at me I stared at you through the window through the rain through the city through the country … Continue reading sight test.
I’m on a train thinking of you I’m on a train reading you I’m on a train not reading you taking notes about you questions for you underlining you (or parts of you that are more you) I’m on a train muttering you you you I’m on a train writing about you translating you scattered … Continue reading love song.
Oh you’re rising up to a New York City pandemonium state of mind your alcohol eyes clocking the clouds, pregnant with poetic distances. But let’s just say it’s a Sunday and I’m globally tired and stranger to life, religiously remembering your phantasmagoric lines & face Angles and this Athenian poet who 15 years ago committed … Continue reading forbidden new memories
Some things echo more than others. Sometimes I hear the last sound of all, that never echoes because there is nothing to bounce back from; it is the sound of final nothing... — Iain Banks, The Bridge An international Sunday spins under my fingers as I open the newspaper; no calamity on the horizon, good, then a stray word, … Continue reading the Traveller
The hero makes a ‘thrilling escape from death’ and the monster is slain. — Christopher Booker, The Seven Basic Plots Fast-blood red-sharp morning explodes in my ears. Benched heat. Or is it that monster your love. Tasting my teeth, there’s a flavour of sun blocked apartments & sorrow balconies, and the line you handed me last night … Continue reading the Hero
What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind? — Matthew 11:7 In the manner of the sea I love you unfaithfully and always, always I write about you and me under many guises, gauzes The hidden you is wound, the plastic cover is me, elastic- dynastic sometimes, for, … Continue reading the Crier
Ignacio was opening drawers, running skilled fingers along their interior. Covered in slim black gloves, his hands performed the task in the dark better than his eyes. The small suitcase at his feet already contained several pieces of expensive jewellery, a camera, a pair of swanky sunglasses, a big ornate key. And a bra. Apart … Continue reading The Underwear Thief
This is A wet Sunday Morning, in {Portobello} and from my window, I can see cars passing on the bridge/ and I'm counting raindrops. Slowly- This is A rainy old Day, in [Portobello] and from my window, I can see your dark daughters in parade/ and I imagine your naked footstep/…/ Secretly- This is A … Continue reading ^The Marriage in Portobello^
all night long I baptized the darkness in your eyes the sun entered the window and unfolded on your body here and there, jewel matching your skin like this I found you in the morning naked palm tree that belongs and surrenders … Continue reading palm tree
Over time, a lover of the night hours I became. A tree that grew in a room. The Saints of Wear visited and solitude stroke like fever. Torchbearer of fear but of desire too, the moon circled, covered, dressed the stained world. The blast furnace city ignited. My blood ignited too. Then came you, sent by the … Continue reading Lament
