Now I can no longer pursue nothingness
For I am nothingness
I'm reduced to bones

Now I can no longer chase the meaning of my dreams
Not even of the phrase that would crown my final poem


In the filthiest Chinese restaurant of the port
I try to recover my strength
Over there rats and cockroaches are dying
from last week’s cuisine
But like sidewalk prophets and madmen I insist
From the back emerge the kitchen staff
Guys who look like murderers

Before the first bite
I invoke Li Po
The poet of drunks tells me to go to hell
He writes and drinks wine under the moon
That’s all he knows
Among poets
There’s no solidarity any more


The afternoon dies like a scorpion
Shadows come
They bed down
It’s late
I feel like a rag for cleaning tables in a bar

I don’t budge
My mind wanders waiting for an angel
God willing he’ll join me for a drink
I wait like a salamander on the hunt for insects


Where does the road begin or end
That’s a stupid question
Roads don’t begin
or end in any place
I shouldn’t let this worry bother me
I’m nothing but nothing
A scarecrow scaring itself


I write to quote myself
To encode what I do not verbalize
To strip my spirit bare
To be in charge of myself
I write to peel away my plunderings
To dislodge the ghosts that dwell in me
To banish the demons that provoke me
I write to be reflected in a mirror that does not lie
To ride the crest of the wave and then to burst


It is night
The sky thunders and thunders
like a man who is going to die

it is night
after insomnia
the punctual nightmare
Both are my Guardian Angel
they do not leave me
neither night nor day


This damned city
I dreamt a red moon that made madmen nervous
Next to me
A woman dreamt that I was dead
Another that she was crying at my wake

This damned city
I dreamt two guys made me
One gave a gun to the other
and he shot me three times


It is useless to ask
What magic girls possess
I remember it is the fragile moth
That comes to die
At the light of night