To the often slained lancer
the brave and better prisoner,
of the wild cackling arena
friends of the night
who are fatally strangers to one another
I begin with my own limits
and spear everyone
Betrayal.
Be a wonderful trail.
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
the machine!
transport me
to the rolls of Joyce
No literature
on ligature
the pincers
I squeeze the universe with…
…into a fragile image
I, the volatile rose
choose the abyss
for peace
Depart!
despite,
there is no echo.
On your footsteps
Depart!
let the guide
you lose
sum the paths
together
as a brain
Then… Report!…
Back to life.
9
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
Emerge from the stone bed of prehistoric confusion,
you are not flesh,
you are not just a facial expression
incised by television,
nor you are the indignity of a jet of words
inherently missing the target
Begin in bytes
The message is clear
9
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
I conclude with this thought that comes to mime…
Inspiration avows me the now.
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
The view is a tunnel.
An event trigger
of this certain bout
encodes my heart.
I spit on mediocrity systematically on a vision.
Logic mars
its shadow;
my conduct.
o, obscure and instantaneous laughter inside the mind
you touch everything.
.
.
9
.
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
Written in Hotel des grand hommes, New York.
Visitations by private beguilers, varied in beauty.
None, whom will I palm?
.
Thinking into the anchoring silence with a view as broad as a rumour.
.
They are pointing the finger at me
the smoking barrel,
the cracking windshield,
I was going far into the [...]
.
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page.
Written in Hotel des grand hommes, New York.
Hole in my psyche spying on the well of dreams.
Here I am where you had been before this sequence.
§
Fissure legs stalking the entire sea.
Pandaemonium is open
lifting the skirts of cities. Paris in Rome,
Gentleman, you cannot retain the retina reaction
a dull [...]
All history came to me.
It looked at me in the eye
for it could not speak.
Intermittent Lunacy is the second book of poems from KiNo.
Currently it is unprinted and only exists as unique handwritten copies
- you may order from the store at the bottom of this page.
KiNo is currently making a poetry album by the same title and content.
It features his voice and a collage of extraordinary soundscapes composed [...]
Voice automatically recites at the loading of this page. Poem inspired by this news.
The flighty dame stood over the Brooklyn bridge contemplating a suicide note
whence came the angel of death and already biased by her golden misery
gave her a novel instead.
.
She could then talk about the parade of faces on her last lover’s [...]