translated by Lindsay Turner

 

 

 

day 1: a very simple poem about

being in the street about

seeing the people about wanting

them too to contribute

 

to the relocation of hope, closer to us

 

(night)

 

at the supermarket, in the aisles

buying 2 chocolate yogurts

are they equivalent to the waiter from yesterday

night, flying, Corsican restaurant

 

blond elf Peter Pan superhero

of service

 

so thin his skin lay

directly

on his bones the 2 yogurts

 

aren’t the cheapest

ones, are they equivalent

to the light that falls sometimes

 

adding districts

to the brightness

 

 

 

day 2: the metro keeps running, imperturbably

it’s like us

 

we can’t ever

really not-want

still to belong

in the crowd of carts at the checkout

 

whole shelves full of produce

and in the neon aisles, I

calculate a possible price

 

where people come up to me and ask

 

 

day 3: or: the world

has happened

 

already and all that’s left

-have a coke and a burger

-learn the names of all the Celtic tribes

-get used to transparency

which is the 3rd or 4th secret death reveals

 

(evening)

 

self-portrait with carnivorous hip-thrust

24 / 7 / 365

reciting the mantra of sharing: try

 

to take part warmly

for once

 

don’t let winter

get ahead

 

it’s true for sure that there are 

almost everywhere public

squares of death and markets

illegal markets where people sell themselves

 

their poverty

 

but please: we could stop

wanting

we, starting with you

 

 

day 4: this is the type

of Econ 101 lecture I’m trying to give: the violent

inequalities of supply

and demand, or that all things besides

a face follow

the law of diminishing returns or that

 

in the non-commutative world

 

the sentence, I’m coming towards you

annuls, de facto, the ideal place where

 

sun gladiolus lakes in the parks where crows

can drink, & other kinds of birds 

you’re coming towards me

 

 

day 5: “casual Friday,” we’ve all

worked a ton

even if the kids would say no

 

a shitton, I’m thinking of

us finding each other this weekend I’m thinking of

 

something as beating-fragile

as a sliver / cut in the heart of a bird

 

(night)

another lesson on: money is

a tool for counting, store of value, pillar

of social order, and above all equivalent so general that

the equation

for a partially commutative world

is really very easy

I’m coming towards you

if we add $150 or $200

= now you’re running to me

 

(night)

 

we spend the evening on the sofa and he says in no particular order

-I had a rough day

-I’m taking care of things

-I grew up on Facebook

-it’s midnight when are you turning into

 

the big bad wolf I suppose

is always there in the first kisses too long

delayed

 

etc. and so to live

 

finally I did get some other sentences out of him

the trick now is to bury them

here, like certain animals do

to store up for hard times, for example him

 

who I’ve just sucked off again

then quick into Homeric deep-freeze

but then you were just a filthy cock

and from now on you’re like

the gods who rule the vaulting skies

 
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