Alexandre Ferrere

Le Simulacre

It’s night.
Sometimes it’s noon (I ask).

Capitals, systemic money in the air.

The leaves, trembling, yell at one another;
           they’re almost identical
           when they cry
           or when they rent a minimal flat
           or when they are lost in the shower,
           staring at the drain
           clogged with fibers, fallen
           from smthg they were
           yesterday, a distant galaxy.

Liberalism looks like liberty-cism—new doctrine, unborn.
           My liberalized mind,
           unnatural, tamed
           by Somebody Else, a crowd made of ghosts
& sand & bills & obligations & documentaries
on the surprising intelligence
of monkeys or ants or. Or. Gold. 

My soul is for sale, it is sold
           to the outside, to
chaotic venues where the oldest sing:
“that’s
the way
it is.” 

I have been liberalized by birth.
           I need medicine.
           Liquid, pills, unconditional love
but I’d rather live it raw. I try, though.
           I try to suffer raw
so the market doesn’t win
           in its battles against me—

It is sly.
It never said what it was.
It divides the tree, fiber by fiber,
eating them one by one,
never too much at the same time
avoiding the noise of silence
           avoiding echoes.
One by one, & the sky is grey.

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Alexandre Ferrere is 31 and lives in Cherbourg, France. After a Master's degree in Library Sciences and a Master's degree in English Literature, he is now working on a PhD. on American poetry and little magazines. His fictions, interviews, essays and poems have appeared in dozens of magazines, online and in print. He is editor and review manager at Trio House Press and his experimental poetry chapbook entitled, mono/stitches, handmade by artist Sara Lefsyk, is available at Ethel Press (2020). Twitter: @bluesfolkjazz