InSect

la nostalgie de l’écaille
la mémoire du reptile
en moi
seule, sous mon étoile -

et toi…

you wore your beetle armor
you, golden brown and bronze
... love
rests on the surface:
dead brilliance
stolen metal, steel fantasy
frozen statue to that loss of mine
sap stealer -

stained clothed
you stood there unknowing
your head full with yourself
and speculating on ten other dimensions
ignoring the one that trapped you
a ghost-sheet in a washing machine
/
innocence a card you played
like a joker in a pocket
like a cockroach in a jar
marred lives around you
and you have nothing to do with them
flawless, washed and de-sinned
disinfected, forehead airbrushed -

free jazz kept me in free verse
Corelli’s compositions kept me
in the air -

still you
on soiled soil were
dissected to the last parcel
dried up carapace
nothing but recollection
a section, a fragment
the illusion of a sparkle
in the middle of dust
/
damp granular grey
clay cracks under my feet
the sound
lingers after your death:
born to the corner of a stone
in search of a protective shade
you have now faded -

the convolutions of my brain
catch the traveling light:
I am initiated
not to your cult
seule, sous mon étoile.