Joseleen Reg 2018 Italic
I don’t laugh enough so when I do it
a dripping tap that suddenly becomes
a jet – big.
nobody is prepared, everyone splashed
eyes f r e e z e.
eyes join the same tremor
a constant, barely perceptible tremble
which pushes as much as it holds
their attention oddly fixed towards
your attention for once dragged inside
eyes keep catching themselves from
an unexpected satisfaction, a returning disdain
tremble, trying to keep standing as normal, to be in
line, hushing the thrill, bridling the pique,
you look like the same leaf but today
you’ve managed to catch the beam at the right angle.
it might be the w i n d.
‘j’ai cru qu’un ange me suivait’
(‘I thought an angel was following me’)
when I was a child, a question that was endlessly asked was “and you, what is your favourite colour?”
every return of this interrogation increased its pressure and dug at my lack of tint.
the day I finally picked one up it felt like finally finding myself
and it coloured every surrounding layer
even the scrunchie
I said yellow.
and I said yellow to any request for
details of definition,
a departure to a strongest me – a full,
it is good
it is MINE
I am MINE.
for a long time I thought only one could be my favourite,
a comforting partnership.
has yellow even desired me?
« I like this hilliness. The different levels of the land. »*
this road is an alley,
a freshly drawn path or one long forgotten,
erasing itself or moving further
around and behind,
a digging w h i
IT ALWAYS GOES BEYOND AT THE LEAST EXPECTED TIME AND THE LEAST APPROPRIATE PLACE
AND THIS OVERFLOW IS SUPPOSED
TO BE ENJOYABLE?
I AM HAVING THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE AND
I CAN’T EVEN SEEM TO APPRECIATE
‘tu es mes ailes’
(‘you are my wings’)
it seems to have been there for a while.
reassuring, enveloping, a warm lace
it goes too fast, not enough
not slow enough?
not fast enough.
I can’t stop speaking
I don’t know what to say
my trousers are soaked and I am fine
drops are falling on fabric is sticking to my feet are s
in the ground.
I am fine
dry layers need water!
this shift as sudden as short as when the plane comes back to a straighter position while still rising,
do you get used to it?
a single slight ripple on a B-road is enough to make me drift
a cold current, a loud undertone, a gust.
sudden contrasts know how to grasp your guts
before they reveal the taste of the normal ground.
it is the state of not really getting what you feel that might be the most delectable
not sure which way, or if it’s the right one
*L during a ride to the city. the mountains were soft but still, wavy – they moved. or was the car passing through a pothole?
not sure if we were late
the shoulders at the back squashed against each other;
on the front seats, the back of the necks gripped.
not sure if we were late, but all the bumps and ripples and far away hills felt like a roller coaster,
not the one
that makes you sick