ROMAIN SCHMITZ

23 rue Princesse

5:54 still awake
tilt-and-turn window wide open inward
both my elbows stuck in the groove
my forearm goes back and forth between my mouth and the void
I count
1 inhale, 2 exhale, 3 repeat
the smoke vanishes almost instantly
atmosphere bluer than Van Gogh’s sky
sky too vast, calm and pale
my head swirling like Van Gogh’s sky
I count
1 black bird, 2 black birds, 1 white bird, in the distance the wail of a seagull
skyline jagged by red clay chimneys
TV antennas pointing East as if to remind us where to look
zinc rooftops bursting like a blaze
a monolith of Lutetian limestone
beige
massive
regal
I count
1 2 3 4 5 6 7th floor I can’t see the end
the rest disappears into the low, threatening sky
black light and purple-filtered sky
der violett sky of Baal’s nights
and me like Baal, sprawled out, naked
pale as an apricot
so many skies beneath the eyelid
I count
1, 2, 3, 4 cigarettes
left
look it’s pellucid time
the time that stinks of dog piss
so I stop the count— my words fall flat
some trust the sky
I trust what I feel.

Romain Schmitz is a Paris-based writer. His work has been/will be published in Midcult*, Acédie 58, Zone Critique and elsewhere on the web and beyond.