Flowers of Entropy

 

Ceci n'est pas une...

What you hear is not the clatter of hooves,

It's them, coming back:

Hyperion, Mnemosyne,

through channels and pores of the Earth,

They arise: Phoebe, Oceanus.

The Olympians tell tales of victory,

but became so enlightened

that they lost all, including names.

Only Ophion's language remains.

Nothing that began, goes away.

We surround ourselves constantly

with things that carry a price,

but not their birth.

From amongst them, the Titans are watching us.

(Paris, 2024/ Lyon, 2025)


 

Dreaming Jan, my maternal grandfather


The green room opens. A table

and some chairs.
That is all.

The light is its own shadow,

and there is a

suggestion of a window

opening onto a garden

full of phlox and wild

strawberries. I can hear

him whistling to the doves,

I know that they never

fail to come.

They are white as the sun.

He feeds them and then,

with his craftsman's

hands,


carefully lights a cigarette

(no filter). I know

everything is going to be well.


The green room is the closest I come

to earth, apple trees,

good work,

and God.

(Copehagen, 2017; Mende, 2025)

 


 

L'apprentissage

Trouver un travail,

ranger la rocaille,

voler la volaille

- je veux apprendre.

Franchir,

Réussir

Bleuir

- oui, et tellement !

je veux apprendre,

Parler français

pour que je puisse

faire ça.

Voila.

(Montpellier, 2020/ Lyon, 2025)

 

Orfée

 

Of all his names, they let him

keep the one. Of all the fates,

they spun Something

like a safety net

Or dreamcatcher, perhaps. He

Had to keep going. He did not know

which way was back. Just

to be sure, he did not look Other

than to the lamp inside

the dream. But, then, he knew, of course,

that without the crows on the snowy fields,

It will cease to be

Poetry, so

he had to keep going

And that is why.

(Juvisy, 2025)

 

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(Juvisy, 2025)

 

Skinwalker song

All the king’s sons

busy burning bridges

All the king’s daughters

tame as golden mud

The land is free now but

there is no one to mourn

the dead:

Fisherman, Lover,

Walker of paths.

The song that is sung, spirals, precedes

the river,

ahead,

down the ghost waterline.

All the king’s sons,

and all the king’s bones,

lie unburied, unloved -

His heart

still in the world.

But void.

His head nodding to

music by those who believe

that they are

moving the

mountains but

not casting shadows

There is no way to

cross the water. They

cannot cross.

The bridges have all

been burned.

They were not of this world.

They

were

The world.

(Juvisy, 2025)

 

Abundance of birds

When I was Noah

I took with me

on the boat

a pair of everything

I’ve learned:

The finds, losses, ideas,

the heartbreaks,

the hard-won transits.

Butterflies,

Birds.

Birds. More birds.

I took an abundance

of birds, because

They speak

the languages

from both sides of the flood

The flood never stops.

(Athis-Mons, 2026)

 

It furthers to have somewhere to go

The river does not flow

all by itself, it is

embraced by

hills and fungi and roots:

Together, they flow.

We flow. You flow, I flow.

Fishes and birds, they flow.

Flowers overflow.

Perseverance

matters

(Juvisy, 2026)

 

Jabbok

with my right foot

I have fallen from grace

whereas my left

was assumed to heaven.

Ladders, I never dream

I dream stairs and lifts

going up, and down,

and sideways.

What comes up,

must cast a shadow

What is moved, what flows

will eventually surface

face-to-face

with you, brother,

Joined

at the hip 

(Juvisy, 2026)

 

Ariadne

He found her sleeping

on the beach by the sea,

when he was passing through Naxos.

He reached out into

her dream and asked

her to marry him.

Many years later,

he got killed by Apollo,

his brother

Everything was excellent.

And yet, his death

is not the end of the tale.

He lives underground.

He does not mind

the darkness, the silence.

He lives among the roots and the fungi.

Not up there, not

in the blinding light.

He does not mind.

His wife knows

about finding

the thread.

(Paris, 2026)

 

Philosopher cast a stone

All dreams are gone,

she said,

all poetry dead

music is but a relic of the past

All of your wagers

not taken roads

the wind, the answers,

fishes and pigs.

It is all gone now, you are

history, she said.

He said: oh but

you really do envy us.

Dear void, you are

almost fulfilled. Say:

thank you.

(Warszawa, 2026)

 

 

 

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