‘Church bells ring slow on the empty street of Hoxton as I leave for the distant towers trembling in the heat. I’ve got a stitch on one side and boots rough against the ankles, each of my aching steps syncopated to the sound of bells, and the street wakes and thrusts to these dramatic rhythms.

The skyline grows taller in the hot mist, hard steel prying on the decayed bricks of the lowrises. Sweat drips down my forehead, I close my eyes and open them again from the sting, the towers wet and blurry shake frantically from side to side, buildings bursting and swaying and all of these terrible images... The heavy mist spreads down the avenues and erases all connections to the ground.

The city rises into the low sun. Its haunting towers ripping gold like water, rising in the heat.
And I watch it grow beautiful again, in the eyes of another man leaving.’

London, July 21st 2021

- So… who do I pay?
- This guy.
- How much?
- It’s written right here. Six euros. But make that five.
- Thanks man.
- Are you Irish?
- No, half French, half American. I guess the mix of two accents made you think that.
- I got confused by that first sentence you said. We were also talking about Ireland right before.
- Are you hiring?
- What’s your name?
- Alex.
- Just Alex?
- Alex.
- Sorry Alex, but we’re not hiring. I have a very small shop here, and I handle it by myself.
- And these are your friends who came to visit?
- They’re here for moral support, ha.
- Well, see you soon.

Berlin, Summer 2021

‘highways in the distance
tear through the night
into our empty houses’

‘rainy trainrides
sway drops like chinese bells
on green plants rising
against the gray’

‘echoes of long sirens
fade in hushed apartments
now and only can we hear
the soft winter breathing’

‘gray summer mornings
spill out onto my driveway
as I kiss the soaked concrete’

‘chirping bavarian sunrises and silent gold
sunsets among rising trees & late field smells’

June 2021

‘Great American curb, channel for my dreams.
so much more vast and smooth than our European streets,
how I want to roll down your concrete gutter,
into this empty space and loneliness which is America.’

Reston, Virginia  2020

‘The kid grabs her dad’s sleeve, daddy daddy look — and pulls
and pulls on the sleeve but her dad keeps on talking to his neighbor
and I watch the huge chopper leap from behind the overlying buildings
with the supernatural majesty of terrible features shadowing the sky.
And the sound of its wings cries like a rip in the clouds and the dad
keeps on talking while the kid keeps on pulling,
knowing that in a few seconds it’ll be all over.

We glanced at each other for a short time,
with the unique complicity
of feeling alone in this world.’

London, September 2019

‘Sometimes a girl on a bus asks for your phone
and she gives you wine in return,
and with a few sips you get to know where she’s from
— but when at her station,
she turns around at the opening doors
and sticks out her tongue at you.
And that’s the last you’ll ever see of her!’

London, April 2019

‘I have dreamt of wide desert skies and falling into them
with the curve of a string singing like dust in the wind.’

‘Younger I would press my forehead
against the window of planes
floating along amber seas, and I would press it hard
so the orange light covers up my eyes,
and I would be left alone in its warmth
kneeling before the shapes of new rising lands.’

March 2019

‘It’s all too familiar when the blinds play
shapes on the walls and I listen to the
early whisper from outside
reaching through the window

and I feel its warmth
like the sting of breath against my skin,

until it blinds me, breaking me down
into the folds of my sheets, powerless

to the terrible whisper
ringing like forgotten dreams into my head.’

London, January 2019

‘A cloud strokes
the sky and
the world suddenly
into the quiet call
of its rising folds.’

London, January 2019

‘When the streets grow longer
and the sounds of life
are so close to me,
the city stands provoking
in the red eternal sky.’

Abidjan, Ivory Coast, October 2018

‘I watch couples buried
deep in the shade of their room,
feet shining
secretively in the silver sky,
brushing parts of stolen grass
out of the open window.
She stands over me,
her long black hair revealing
every once in a while, the glimpse
of a sharp blue eye,
though her face always stays hidden
against the shimmers of the surrounding city.’

August, 2018

‘The local market
blows yellow dust
into the torn sky;
shoppers run eyes closed
into the new dusk.’

Market Shena, Saranda, Albania, July 2018

‘At around this time of year I would usually
start dreaming of girls with shoulder high hair
racing their way into warm summer crossings
under midnight white skies,
following the shadow of giants ahead
that would never ever fade in the distance.
I stared again into long halcyon lights
shooting straight up from dying cities,
and every street corner turning slowly into the night,
enough time to feel I would yet be missing out
on another love story this year.’

June, 2018

‘This morning I heard
summer echoes
high above the thin streets,
violent as distant dreams.’

Belleville, Paris, April 2018

‘Lines of blue
flutter behind blinds,
peak into the midnight bronze
of the tenement,
electric and summoning.’

Houston, Texas, December 2017

the night’s just an old grin,
heads nodding to the rhythm
of headlights
shaping dark living rooms.’

Easter NIght, Paris, April 2017

‘Tour people look up at me, though they don’t see me. They imagine what I am
until they forget
at the first chance they have.’

‘I’m sort of part of the jungle now, walking in my sweats with a bag of dirty clothes amidst the gaze of foreigners
coming to witness the real Paris.’

‘There’s something about neon lights. Especially turquoise or red ones.
Like a night dress for hotels, restaurants and such,
a curious and tempting invitation, the city is teasing but I want to stay home.’

‘The smell of sudden rain on hot cement flows through the windows and inside modest rooms.
Some of the occupants defy timidly the running water with a hand or an arm,
while others wash their face with a smile,
try to rub in the scent that had been missing for so long.’

‘Faint voices jolt me every now and then. Cries brought to me by the wind.
Children cries, sharp and sinister in the distorting wind.’

‘She looked at my paintings and didn’t say a word. No remarks, no compliments.
She had yet said she liked guys who do things.
She read my book facing me and discussed rhymes for a while.’

‘Sometimes I watch the city night
until its heavy darkness covers me up,
until my own breath is heard from a distance.’

‘A group of girls smoke a brown cigarette in the subway
ashes blown away in the underground wind.’

‘They scream at the view of green shades of hard rain covering up the city
in waves of haunting blasts and wet
lasting footsteps thru the streets.’

Diary of Cardinal Lemoine, Paris, June 2017

‘The brushing of the girl’s hair is rough, her jaw flinches at every knot, she closes her eyes to the scraping sound. She notices my attention and the ritual becomes an act. She closes her eyes again, this time turning her back.
Her gesture has softened, I feel she wants to tell me something new.’

Coventry, February 2017

‘On wide concrete waves
slowly unfolding,

hometime drivers,
drink in hand,

bathe in a purple dusk.’

Reston, Virginia, January 2017

‘Les cloches froides
des rues vides
la brume.
Un village
dans la beauté pâle
de l’inquiétude.’

‘Have you ever heard the whispers of the still countryside
which make a man go blind?’

Bretenoux, France, December 2016

‘Cars speeding down the intersection
splash gold in the headlights,
every time,
glowing droplets against the dark
falling too slowly to the ground.’

Europe, Paris, October 2016


‘The old city stirs
and swells on sunset clouds,
bows to the splendid light.’


‘Sharp towers loom in the red

strange tension

claws ripping us into the dystopian night.’

Beaubourg, Paris, October 2016

‘Dans l'élégante lueur froide
d'une nuit de pluie,
les pavés de rues faufilantes
devenus marbre
reflètent le discours des néons
aux marcheurs couverts et asservis.’

Oberkampf, Paris, September 2016

‘Senior porch ladies
watch the restless waves
from their plastic
flower printed folding chairs.’

Popoyo, Nicaragua, April 2016

‘The silent impression of a hard day
in the slow
circle of the vulture.’

‘Vision of perfectly spaced uniform cloud pattern
from inside the yellow-windowed bus.’

Homún, Mexico, February 2016

‘A vast iron sky,

the menace
in a bright heavy day.’

Houston, Texas, January 2016

‘The dawning town's
pale orange mist
creeps through the hills,
secretly working higher cliffs.’

Valldoreix, Catalunya, August 2016

‘Three cars follow each other
at the first shudders of morning-
There's something worth hurrying for
or good hiding from.’

Mayfield Terrace, Edinburgh, December 2015

‘Over the rows of yellow pine trees
and sharp grass hills, silhouettes form
in the shallow clouds; Ancient shades
guard the land.’

Highlands, Scotland, October 2015

‘Dusk green field,
young fog pulses in lamp post light.’

Stockbridge, Edinburgh, November 2015

‘Crowne Hotel's hundred glass eyes in breathless midday heat
follow in a vacant gaze venturers scouting shade to sleep.’

Plaza España, Madrid, August 2015

‘The Canal bares its emerald scales in the pale leftovers of the day.’

‘By the waterside the Faubourg rooftop, sharp mansard shadow against the dusk,
shelters the spreading crowd,
witness of Apache nights waking.’

Canal Saint-Martin, Paris, June 2015

a vague haven
where the sky trembles
when howls the shadow man.’

Buffalo Bayou, Texas, November 2014

‘In late year retrospect,

half night suggests,
beyond Darlington junction,
an amber lining at street's end.’

Darlington, Montreal, November 2013

‘Homesick for places no one knows,
we go where the lights shine low.

Comeback Blues, 2012