Poetic proses - Remil
Remil in a pic of 2000
Carrara
marble
cold
as ice
under
my little feet.
Opened
skies as clouds
slashed
from lightning.
The
voice of God
into
a thunder
that
wounds your ears.
The
corridor
immense,
long, unending.
The
coldness
under
the feet of a baby
while
the ear splitting rain
wants
to crack the roof.
My
little hands
tender
and white
as
snowflakes
clench
a little cross
on
my chest.
A
blubbering voice moves
into
the wind of my thoughts.
-
Mom! -
Silence
My
voice calls you again
crying
into desperate torments.
Still
silence that
is
winding me up
like
the dragons of the fables
you
tell me everyday.
The
bedroom
lighted
from lightning
appears
bigger to my eyes.
The
shade of the dragon
wildly
on
my mother's body
dances
mortally.
Oh
my poor mom
who
is injuring and torturing
your
body?
I
will come to make you safe.
Whoever
you could be
dragon
or a shade of night
I
will go through your heart
with
my nails
and
will eat it
as
bread.
PARKING
Get
out!
I
don't want to see you.
You
squash me in a circle
without
any way out.
You
are annoying as the boredom,
encumbering!
My
feet are prisoners
from
brake and friction
while
I'm attempting to go away
from
this town
from
this world.
Footprints on the sand.
Walking
on wet deserts
I
find out again
the
ancestral essence of loneliness.
Mirages!
An
oasis of peace
among
green palms
and
huge waves of canister
that
wrap my body.
-
I saw the parking place first!
Don't
even try to take it,
I
could kill you! -
In
front of me
is
the glass of leftover champagne
with
the color of your lips
still
traced on it.
I
want to close my eyes
and
listen to the noise
of
my bones
while
my hands crack
dried
branches of trees
forgotten
from my mind.
Absolute emptiness.
The
flavor of champagne
sweet
and soft
on
my smoothed lips
that
I suck with lust.
Suddenly
a
cursed spider
on
the other side of the table
fixates
on my face.
Darned
woman!
You
are still in this room.
Why
don't you hide yourself
behind
the mountains of desires
where
my glance
can't
see you anymore?
But
still I see you
among
smokestacks of metropolises
dark
colored as these sticky paws
of
this spider that paralyzes my will.
My
half closed eyes
succeed
to perceive
the
orifice of your words
where
filaments
never
end weaving
this
web in the chasm.
Immobile,
breathless
while
the spider of your nightmares
keeps
fixed on my glance.
I'm
not afraid of you.
Come
Come
I
will offer you a drink.
15
Minutes
to
choose a cd
to
listen to.
I
don't want to hear any music!
20
Minutes
looking
for a book.
Short
minutes
like
the gasps of a second
while
as an imbecile
I
keep looking through the library
I
don't feel like reading!
25
Minutes
looking
for a movie
worth
seeing
Tarkovskij.
Bergman
Fassbinder.
I
really don't want
to
squeeze my brain right now!
3
Hours and 15 Minutes
of
lost time
in
the labyrinth of time
next
to a memory
that
never did exist.
Artificial
paradises
to
idiots
and
the poor of mind.
For
me
It
is enough
to
open my window
and
give my cheek
to
the hot wind
of
this hot town
that
offends and insults me
with
shivers of love
that
I don't feel anymore.
The
light was extinguished
my
body
laid
on my couch.
The
click of a lighter
can
make more light
than
a sick sun
that
brightens a dying planet
meaningless
like
the infancy
of
an actual movie.
I
have the skill to read
the
jiggles of my cigarette
in
the darkness.
I
write your name
keeping
my cigarette tight
between
the thumb and index finger
of
my hand.
In
my brain there are
words
of eternal waters
that
give life to all the rivers
while
an endless sea
gives me back life.
A
thought, maybe a love story
arises
in my room.
I
am close to climax.
Knowing
how to read in the darkness
is
a divine gift.
Which genius
sculptured
your mind?
Overtaking
the history of men
by centuries
riding
sidereal spaces
while Duncan
is still
in bed wailing.
How many
hands
attempt
to get cleaned
everyday
and night
since the
beginning of time
in the
orgy of power?
He who
washed his hands
decreeing
the death of God
and men
lost his
peace forever
and you
earthly
power
everywhere
you kill
the freedom
and the
respect of men
never will
shut down
the screaming
hiss of wind
when the
wind hisses
dreadfully
in the
nights of thunderstorms
dragging
into snow
the scattered
molecules
of your
soul.
Lady,
lady,
you may
wash your hands
until you
want.
Now
tomorrow
the day
after tomorrow.
Begotten
by a perfect mind
you might
wash your hands
till the
end of time:
the shout
of Duncan
never will
let you go.
Spaghetti
and steak.
Little
white tablecloth
like snowcapped
Dolomite's.
I do need
opened skies
to roll
my body
and feel
emotions
of smooth
and sensual shivers.
Mineral
water
an empty
glass
and next
to me
a little
apple.
I perceive
the presence
of tropical
plants
and listen
at obsessive falling rain
among green
foliage
that shakes
itself
to the
frantic rhythm
of my sweet
pipedreams
I'm not
hungry
and I never
am.
A cramp
destroys me,
while a
tepid
winter
sunbeam
reminds
me
of the
celestial rainbows
that reflect
smiles
never gotten.
Empty frames
left
with colors
already poured
onto languished
canvas
in the
temporal space
of my thoughts.
Brass handles
burnished
from sighs
close the
wooden doors
that barely
opened
to subterranean
apertures
of penumbra.
On the gilded
lake
of your
skin
immense
wings of gulls
move the
endless water of the sea
where I
dip rubbish of thoughts
that oppress
my sleep
In the night
to sleep
I must
fill my mind
with emptiness
and forget
everything
I must cancel
from my memory
the insult
of your recall
and my
nameplate
for not
having a name anymore.
Surprised.
drowsy.
You
were looking at the sky.
You
loved its light,
its
promise.
It
was a new day
and
you wanted to flee.
It
was your problem,
your
anguish.
The
rest of the world
was
so far away
like
the memory
of
the first lost love.
What
a wonder!
Your
voice on the phone
with
the day barely born.
Let's
go towards the light
you
said,
the
light is next to the hill.
A
speaker on the radio announced
the
discovery of a poet's corpse
next
to Rome martyrized
from
jackasses of the outskirts
and
probably
the
beginning of a new war.
I
kept thinking of my Gitanes
that
I had forgotten in my car.
I
didn't smoke french cigarettes
and
must get rid of them.
My
room seemed to wrap my throat up
and
my house a bellows
that
converged on my conscience.
I
could not resist
with
my heart that wanted
to
go out of my chest.
Took
my jeans and a sweater
and
went outside half naked
as
a crazy man in the fog.
When
you arrived
you
smiled at me,
I
smiled at you too
then,
running, we left.
One
cry in the Tosca
shots
from a cannon
and
that's all!
I'm
sorry, Mahler
you
didn't know
how
to wait
or
maybe were distracted
when
the art was alive.
Anyway,
your symphonies
touch
my heart
and
sharply torture
my
mind.
I
feel on my skin
the
sound of your distress
while
my pores get enlarged
when
releasing the livid tensions
that
rust and break up
the
essence of my lymph.
Why
didn't you stop at eight?
Waiting
is always like dying
when
your mind yawns
in
the silence
of
the failed creation.
Beethoven,
Bruckner,
Shubert,
Dvorack:
names
that hammer
your
brain.
Not
one of them
could
count more.
Numbers
that seem
controlling
the destiny of men
when
the thought of death
sits
down next to you
and
you can feel its breath.
It
has been hard to bear
the
voice of fear
that
turned your face white
and
your pen dropped
on
the pentagram
of
the ninth symphony:
dawn
of a tenth day
left
unaccomplished.
Sinusoidal
waves of heat
on
the forehead,
part
of the face
and
around the neck.
The
path to reach
the
destination
is
far away
always
so far away.
One
boa serpent,
a
chain
keeps
us tied
as
slaves
Too
many trees ahead
we
never arrive.
Among
lianas
I
fly over coconuts
that
look so strange
seen
from above.
The
light blue reflex of a lake
rains
from the sky
like
a celestial blessing
and
I in deep
with
my fists closed
letting
the water flow
over my
body
so sensitive
to cold
and heat
to the
breath of wind
to caresses
of love.
Without
any reason
in
a central post office
an
aged man
cracks
violently
the
glass of a closed counter
light
blue colored
as
the reflex of a lake.
Then
he drops on the floor
shouting
words
of
freedom and vengeance
without
any sense.
The chinks
of the shutter
like
thousands of lips on fire.
The
light calls back
to
life the energy
that
lives in your body
about
to explode.
Eyes
that keep clinging
intensely
to
the chinks
till
injuring the pupils.
What rests
impressed
is the
negative of a picture
against
the piteous surface
of your
eyelids closing
to soothe
the grief.
One
gate of fire,
like
a dark red prison
out
of focus,
and
the grimace of terror
being
eternally trapped
inside
yourself
are
the unbearable sensations
of
not being able to get rid
of
your body
and
flying with the wind.
Pushed
to my shoulders
also to my loins:
people are pitiless with me.
A
red stop light halts me
I can't walk:
it's forbidden!
Finally
an opened church
in the metropolitan outskirts
forsaken by God.
It's Vesper time.
I
count closely
the slow and respectful noise
of my steps as deadened cannons.
I'd like to fly
not hearing myself.
The glances of people
as swarms that buzz
around me.
I
feel observed
by all.
It is a darned sensation
to have all eyes
staring at my body
What if
a blasphemy would
go
out of my mouth right now?
Just
here,
in
this church!
It's
a thought that tortures
my mind,
a terrifying shout
that comes within me
and is out of my control.
The terror, that it could happen.
Between the sweat my forehead
and the sweat of my hands
while my body barely stands up
laid on an endless sorrow
I push out of my mind
with all the strength I have left
till I reach out the purity
of my most beautiful feelings.
Two
wounded hands
explains the suffering
of man
and in my heart
shyly
one prayer of gratitude arises.
You
were free
but
I was free too.
In
a night club
with
old friends
all
together
to
forget
the
daily frustrations
dancing
like idiots
till
morning.
I
watched him
while
he was talking to you.
Unpleasant,
with
the whiff of beer,
disgusting
like a worm
you
may squash.
He
kissed your neck
and
I was smiling at you
with
a smile so big
deeper
than a mirror
when
it reflects itself.
He
talked to you
with
his lips almost
touching
yours.
I
could see his yellow teeth
and
felt pity for you.
He
wasn't worth a nail
of
my toe
and
so I took a knife from the desk
and
cut his throat.
My
smile
blinding
like a sunbeam
into
your eyes
took
off your sight
just
when I was slashing
your
heart
without
any pity,
the
more you shouted
the
deeper I went.
When
you both were
sitting
down again
I
kept smiling at you.
I
will have always
a
smile for you,
sweet
baby of mine.
The
light penetrates my eyes
like
Siegfried’s effulgent sword
with
the evil power.
His
body became invulnerable
less
than a feather of skin
on
the human part of his clothes.
Will
I seek glory
or
only lost time?
I
will walk back
the
path of time
that
today closes
the
doors of my wishes.
I don't
want to go outside.
The
sun injures me.
The
fever I have inside
folds
me
while
the memory
of
that missed kiss
still
is bursting.
Good
night Marcel
Without
a kiss from mom
and
I recall the same steps
with
the same fear
of
missed love.
No
one will know
the
time that passes by
for
creating
this
immortal monument
endless
like the voices
of
my soul
that
still marks the seconds.
It
will live
in
the perennial memory
of
my research
and
will never
get
lost anymore.
Smell
of gasoline,
my
gear.
Two
red buttons
as
eyes of a demon
on
my body.
I
am walking
on
quicksand
that
reminds me
of
the softness of my bed.
My
hands try to cling
to
corners of a space
I
don't feel are mine.
I
must hold those darned buttons!
I
must give life to the machines
while
my life dwells
into
heart's beats
slow
and heavy
like
the steps of my shoes.
I
can count them
as
well as I count the time
left
for my life.
I don't want to die right away!
Suddenly
one
hit on my shoulders,
a
friendly hello,
an
unexpected good morning
while
shades of dark smoke
made
black my sight.
What
happiness
feeling
again
the
fresh wind of the morning,
the
life in my body,
in
my toes
in
all the fingers
of
my hands
that
now can turn on
two
red buttons.
The
workshop takes life
and
so do I!
HIM
Cry,
shout
as you like!
I
already know
she
will run to you!
I
don't exist anymore for you.
Since
he is here
I'm
like dead man.
I
could also go away
and
you wouldn't notice.
You
live only for him,
every
moment
every
fucked second
of
each day.
Why
can't I
love
my son?
Why do I hate him so much?
He
has my same eyes
and
the shape of your face.
I
look closely at the right corner
of
my window
that
leads to the courtyard.
What
is the horrible mystery
that
breaks up my soul?
Tomorrow
I will take care
of
him like you do,
not
now!
Tonight
let me die here,
let
me drown
in
this darned
cold
potage.
My
dear parents
better
you know
I
don't love to look handsome.
I
want to be unpleasant for all!
To
the hypocrisy
I
do prefer my kicks and my spits.
I
like to show
my
naked ass
in
my quarter.
I
like to see people
that
pretend not to see me.
This folly makes you afraid.
Even
the Roman greeting
Didn't
daunt you
Because
you did that
and
then forgot
and
right away
you
do it again
under
other shapes and flags.
You make me laugh!
I
like going outside
as
I am
without
a handkerchief and tie.
Kind
lady
are
you afraid of a man
with
only his undies?
I
guess you saw so many without!
I'm
really sorry
you
are scandalized
my
dear parents
but
I do want to feel free
to
give myself to death
with
my hands
rather
than falling into
the
annihilation
of
your immoral laws.
OLD WINE
I
like the blonde color
of
this good wine
sincere
and confident
like
nothing else.
Waving
the glass
is
the same as
having
in my hands
all
the sea
so
limpid and clear
you
can see through it.
The
town in the night
makes
me feel older.
I
have always the sensation
someone
is following me.
The
worse instincts
in
the night get up
and
burst into darkness
of
destroyed and snapped souls
from
the emptiness of time.
Why
do you want your hand up
against
an old man
that
smells of wine?
You
are more alone and drunk
then
me, poor boy!
You
are so young and sick
and
the voice
you
are listening to
is
more sick than mine.
Is
it my money you want?
Take
it
but
don't kill me!
It's
for you that I say this,
not
for me!
LOVE'S LETTER
My dear ...
darn,
today I can't write.
Something
is wrong.
Oops...I
see,
there
are some pens
out
of place
and
one kleenex
from
the day before
left
on my notes.
Let's restart!
I
don't feel well.
what
is wrong?
The
frame of your picture.
It
is not well placed
and
bothers me.
Also
the desk doesn't look centered.
I
get up and look at it closely.
My
eyes
like
a laser beam
scan
with extreme precision
the
leg of the desk
that
does not fit perfectly
with
the center of the tile.
I
must have moved it.
The
external mess
drives
me nuts
and
reflects its moans
inside
of me.
At
last
all
has been fixed
exactly
perfectly
like
in a family's picture.
I
feel fulfilled
finally!
Too
much time has past
since
you went to the grocery store.
Buying
bread and water
doesn't
take that long.
Why
in the late evening?
On
Saturday?
I
feel the veins of my temples
getting
swollen
and
the fire of the anger
eroding
within me.
I
wish I could see you
right
now
with
my eyes.
I
know,
I
do know
you're
giving yourself
to
him.
To
a grocer!
I
see his hands
caressing
your body
and
my ire
like
an irrepressible fury
would
overtake all the mountains
and
go through
all
the sea and rivers
of
this earth.
Ah
unfaithful woman,
you
must be back!
My
hands are ready.
I
won't let your mouth lie.
I
must save your soul
from
the sin.
I'm
here
on
the front porch
waiting
for you.
Oh... your
innocent face
and
your guiltless glance
are
like a red-hot blade
in
my injuries
the
deepest ones of my mind.
Don't say
a word!
Shut
up!
Die
now!
SAINT-REMY
Hey
nurse,
leave
me alone!
The
noise of the wind
and
the shouts of the sky
will
be enough.
Blue
cirrus and circles of fire,
I
want to see the color
splashing
on the canvas
like
the blood that splashed out
of
my ear.
Paul,
Paul,
why
did you abandon me.
I'll
paint myself
with
the ear bandaged
so
I won't feel
the
shout of pain
amplified
from my senses
that
push me over
what
I'm able to bear.
More
canvas, nurse,
more
colors, run!
The
Art is about to explode
in
my bowel
I
can't stop it.
It's
the energy that wants
to
overflow beyond the dam
of
my bones,
a
fury
that
obsesses my vibrating hands
around
colors
that
keep the same taste
of
my death.
Lonely
as always
in
the desert of my home.
In
the night
you
may hear the wind
and
the pitiless loneliness
whistling
in your ears.
Tempests
of sand.
Uncertain
hands
protect
tormented eyes
from
endless grains
of
wee stones.
The
dream of a mirage
like
a caress of love
into
the color
of
a white telephone.
The
need of a human voice
to
cover the hideous voices
of
overlaid silences
that
hiss violently
from
each piece of furniture
of
my home.
My
crazy heart
beats
in my throat
while
trembling
I
try to call
the
number of hope
on
the keypad
of
a white telephone
like
a lily of love
in
my left hand.
Sleep
my sweetie.
I
will stay here hugging you
until
the sleep
cleans
the tears
from
your sore little eyes.
How
many tears are shed
for
a little smudgy doll!
Don't
be afraid
your
dad will always have
a
new little doll for you.
Tomorrow,
when
the sun gets
the
color you love so much
and
I see your little arms
running
to me
you
will get a new doll again
really
more beautiful than
the
spoiled one,
more
beautiful than the color
of
a sunset,
more
beautiful than blue fate
but
it would never be
as
beautiful as you are
my
little baby.
Oh
still a tear!
Let's
take it off altogether
and
your glance
will
again be sparkling
like
the stars
of
your enchanted worlds.
Yes,
your
mom is sleeping now,
I'll
wait for you to sleep
while
I lay here next to you.
The last
letter
is
always the most difficult
to
write.
It
doesn't come from the heart
nor
from the mind.
There
is a white paper
and
one name barely readable
and
your pen
that
your trembling hands hold.
Your
eyes look for reasons
for
the absence of things.
It's
a voice that takes origin
from
your stomach
physically
as
a part of you
stabbing
and painful
from
an acute grief.
You
might touch it
till
you perceive
the
physical essence
of
the torments of your thoughts.
The
pen drops
on
the white paper
while
in only one word
the
last letter
of
your life,
the
shortest,
has
been written.
LITTLE GREEN DOT
Green
numbers
mark
the time that passes by.
A
little intermittent
green
dot
beats
with the rhythm of my heart.
The
white ceiling
reflects
the subtle color
that
heats the walls
of
my room.
In
the safety of warms blankets
the
coldness of life calms down
Suddenly
the
clock radio stops
and
the room falls into darkness.
It's
a moment
almost
imperceptible
and
barely you have
the
time to realize
that
the murk
is
the only thing you have around.
An
inexplicable sense of emptiness
wraps
up your body.
Your
heart is lost
as
the little dot is dead
and
it beats the time of fear.
It's
the need of the light
maybe
the light of life.
It's
strange
but
a little dot
even
the smallest
like
the little flame of hope
can
make you feel alive
like
the heat
of
a word of love.
The
sound of footsteps
without
any control,
Toes
that seems
to
drag the motion of bodies.
Dark
shoes.
Finally
an old model
with
laces.
I
keep waiting anxiously
for
a pair of red shoes.
Colors
in my mind
that
move and follow
the
rhythm of a far life.
The
sight of a grate
under
my eyes
attracts
my glance.
Just
as quick
as
a flash of lightning
all
the iron segments
have
been counted.
102
like the fever
that
is devouring me.
With
the prick of my shoes
I
touch them meticulously
one
after another.
I
can't skip any of them!
It
is a grueling work
of
patience
if
I make an error
I
must restart.
What
a strange life mine is!
Counting
always
counting
all
knowing
there is nothing
really
interesting to me.
This
night
I'll
try to count
the
minutes
the
eternal minutes still left
before
I die
knowing
that I can't
get
back in time:
life
and death
for
me
are
the algebraic addition
of
nothing!
In
a waiting room
of
a hospital
a
young girl
looks
at the outlines
of
a window.
She
is sitting and immobile
with
a fixed glance
perhaps
barely pending
on
undefinable motions of time.
Blond hair,
Pupils
like two white pearls.
a glance
that dismays you