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.

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9

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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?

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Thinking into the anchoring silence with a view as broad as a rumour.

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They are pointing the finger at me

the smoking barrel,

the cracking windshield,

I was going far into the obscenity of a good story

then ending up in a limpid sentence.

Oh, volare!

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Their pearls have their own minds,

they say,

‘Fill up your pockets in dignity,

your origin is a safe.’

.

In a series of images and sensations that only occur during deep sleep

The marble admiral shows me her left breast

it works like a mouth,

the same contraption

that captures honest men.

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A vast army of 9 months.

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9

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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 moment exists

long as the day.

This escape is scenic and audible.

Swinging a cat by its tail.

Tethered dogs lament walking

Always someone else has to foot the bill at your death and birth.

9

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 to the poems.

The book starts here: Part I – Poems 1 to 13

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Poems 15-27

#15

18/12/06 15:54

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Everything at once!

If I can’t articulate the complexity of this mental image,

it’s because there are magnetic fields between “being” and “representation”.

I cry,

I endure

I am volatile if I am, on purpose

in the purgatory

mangled between my two ears.

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#16

18/12/06 15:58

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Ascend on a beautiful day,

life keeps you inside me like a pearl inside death,

on a beautiful day,

let army of shadows play,

black keys of the piano playing the song of death.

I am not afraid.

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#17

21/12/06 18:40

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I received a bullet on the chest of liberty.

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#18

22/12/06 14:36

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My heroes are books still in the form of trees

uncut, unwritten,

their pages content with air

and the rippling of a stream nearby

just minutes before civilisation.

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#19

25/12/06 04:39

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Fang-less vampire,

teeth deep in a sealed smile.

When one remembers one often forgets

how beauty is the captive child in your feminine fortress.

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#20

25/12/06 04:59

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The man walks his shadow to tolerate his doubt;

whether it is day or night,

it’s neither!

only a song for the piper.

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#21

29/12/06 20:32

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Modern Malady.

Our actions, habits, ambitions, desires, affections are as modern as our corpses.

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#22

Lost and unfound.

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#23

05/01/07 03:02

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I am possessed

my entire being is sledded down

the abyss of existence.

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#24

05/01/07 03:11

Of all the ends to a love story

the best one is to start another one with the one I love.

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#25

07/01/07 07:00

Everything comes from one and returns to one.

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#26

11/01/07 23:06

Testimonies of a super- ego:

enlarge as you wish, my pretty!

you are not alone in this world.

Sulphur smile,

mellotron tease,

I am yours

all the way.

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#27

13/01/07 18:02

The cliff I fell from is higher than my being.

9

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.

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She could then talk about the parade of faces on her last lover’s gestures,

about the informative skies harbouring hopeless beginnings for each gestation,

she had the world of future

under her blowing skirt

just a cliché.

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Marilyn curled dark impulses, her tiptoes

balancing on the threshold of a breaking news.

The silent slither,

East River, yet to rot and freeze.

Marilyn gasped an awakening

and dragged her leaden defeat back to life.

.

Now, fade into the automatic buzzing solitude engineering this city

with its mute traffic of lament.

.

Black eyes of the water blinked farewell

for the time being

the disparate stranger

whom I never cared for.

Then why do I occasionally see her come through this door

vivacious as a cork leaving a bottle of champagne

for an enormous splitting headache.

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I feel the drowning of a leaf in a lake.

9

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