Maxime Le Moing | Writings | Recordings | Films | Live | Agenda | French version
A blooming
jacaranda
is the hotel
of tangled
plots.

Sitting
below is
a glissando
delight of all
the zealous beats.
Basements full
the eardrums.

When the ear sticks
to the stop posts,
lampposts, metal rods,
it enjoys

a deafening violence
of the fists hitting them.
The skin of the leaf
is a white mattress on which
the mine and the line lie.

Drawing a living model
is exposing
the jolts of carbon.
Scrambled atmosphere,
in the supermarket
it picks up the radio poorly


The empty stomach holds out its antenna.

It mix the music,
change the wave from the fresh section to the biscuit section.
(transitions spit)

And the ears position
the choice of meal.
The sky enters
the summer meadow,
scrolls a highway
of volatile insects.

It lie down there.


Never before

has the Doppler effect
restore their bumblebees
so much.
Aluminum is a crumpled
rain cloud that lodges
in the folds of crisps.

It is an excellent
weather indicator
a powerful magic trick
like a thunderstorm that
breaks in the mouth.
Eating
cereals
makes you deaf
silence is
an appetite suppressant.
Love conversation

sitting on her
red wheeled suitcase
her feet hit
the hull with a

bou-boum bou-boum
bou-boum bou-boum bou-boum
bou-boum
Under this bridge
flow the demonstrators but
their song does not advance any more.

It is sheltered
rumbles in the enclosure. His fate:
a mouth-to-mouth relay fleeing outwards.

It’s a brittle flow
a force that struggles to resonate
in a breach.
Eating
while listening to the waterfall
crush the foam.
The words contained
in one of the barrel vaults
are playing ping-pong.

They bounce
very quickly thirteen times
until they lose the point.

Sometimes one exceeds
the time limit of his death, slips
in the round trip of the other.

Listening becomes denser,
we come across a waterfall.
The railroad
tunnels have
a collection of horns.

These blows of syncope
sparkle
the acoustics of the hole.

Darkness will return
in choking-reverberation.
At the first trumpet notes
the ear unrolls
a juvenile oasis.

We follow the instrument,
dreading
the silence of a mirage.

It is the step followed by another
which guides thirst.
Darkness will return in choking-reverberation
When the party ends,
the acid house absorbing
its own organs,
a morning walk in the open fields
reminds us of this music.

No forest needed
to hear the birds.

They plug into
the electrical wires
of the rare metal trees,

extending the empty sky of fluorescent chirps.
We will live at night
it will be too hot
for the day
the moon and the stars
will be our lights
listening will be more important
than seeing.
Remote communication
will be rare
uncontrolled
noise emissions
will be saved
the train entering town
will honk to announce
tomorrow's weather
the gantries will ring
the day before the time change
we'll chop a tree
to say goodnight.
We will no longer
vote left or right
there will be a
three-dimensional system
the political line
will be a cube
where the roll
will determine
the axis of perception
of the dice.