Formica-covered furniture petroleum smolder into the night
sky dragging Ikea bookcases and side tables onto the metro to
feed the bonfires. A tall African clad in white leaps over a
babel of burning rubble

  +  

Feed the sun fire, feed the sun language on the eve
of its weakening

Fire a particular way to dismember a thing. Compressed fibers
in particle board, notebook with laminate cover, receipts. Guts—
what was tender pulp consumed the quickest. What was tender—
your name x 10

  +  

My wrist aches when I write now. Notebook a record
of tiny lacerations

To feel the permutations of night that garden behind the
monastery. Heady youth bloom perfume of worklessness and
revolutionary romanticism. The city for a year expressed itself
as a utopia of women and the work-free

  +  

A scrap of paper loses its structure in flame garlanded
around the names Lampedusa/Gibraltar

My imagination will walk in the City of Women
for life, weaving garlands

  +  

Continuous impossibility mottled by encounter. A blue
Mediterranean promise

  +  

A generosity that opens out onto another form of being.
She stopped loving me
exile

  +  

passenger /
Bad translator
Spy