The carpet

I saw a man this morning on the side of the road. He was besides his car boot open. Rows and rows of carpets, oriental rugs rolled up, side by side, in the car.  He was standing in front of this treasure and I stopped to watch as he weaved in, weaved out heavy wool string…

a four lettered word

It follows me. Nags me. Tortures me.  Until I forgot where I am.  Until the end. I have no idea when that will be. It’s everywhere.  It never stops. And all the while, I feel the strings tugging, restricting not my breath, but my control. They call it self destruction, I heard.  The control.  The…

Muette comme la mouette

Hier soir, j’étais une mouette. Elle s’est installée dans le sable. Bien enfournée mais la tête dehors vers l’horizon. Un oeil ouvert, Moitié fermé. Surveillance totale. pour quel? Aucune idée mais que pour l’horizon.

Murmur home.

I see the rising tide beneath the setting sun but the waves do not come crashing, tumbling down, spears at the ready for battle. No, they simply call and murmurrepeatedly, slinking around my feet, snaking, not unlike the kettle’s whistle when it welcomes the warmth of coffee, tea leaves, or the bottom of the cup….

Jungle ‘scape

Lime green, jardin de jungle.A pair of legging trousers, a tunicor is it a dress?Little girl, on a beam, without a beam, on a vitesse à tres longue distance, trees at the moment zipping by in my lens like no tomorrow. She’s a ballerina, the type another little girl could have if the brain damage…

rays of sun.

Rays of a typical NYC afternoon down upon us and I go my own way. We came to pay a visit to our history. What we found were just a few reminders of a town I have not seen again. A few reminders of something more recent, a war in secret, half still shrouded in…

RED.

She twirls around and around, fancy sandals, nude, ready for that dazzling soirée in the sun. Red is her image. She has never felt this free since that long time ago. And yet, today, she is red. She is vibrant. She is flowery.  The men will all see. But sadly, once again, they will not…

A pot of lavender

Always, never, almost waiting? A prowl through the lavender, or perhaps, another stage of life, previous. How to turn back time when we cannot? I left New York. I wonder, did I leave you too? No baggage claim fixes what we wait for, yesterday, today, tomorrow, this evening. my cat Seems to be ever mute…

untitled. for him. for them.

A crime against humanity my ancestors never asked for. The bells are ringing, warning in his ears, rockets, a pink cloud of fire. Tonight is the night he thinks. I can’t die yet.  Dust clouds thick here for days on end. Never stops. All we want is a savoury manouché, kick around the ball, dabke…

democracy, or that muted radio.

If you look hard enough, in the corner of your eye…. You see it. A blue standard, they call a symbol…    it’s a fickle one, I say. But…. They said this was democracy, one step forward to better, one more injustice fought,all because of a victory, which was no victory, but apparently no one asked…