A collection of the only peoms I ever wrote (created in Senegal)


standing still, feeling the hot sand between the toes, the salt baked hair in the face, the hugging sun on the back and nothing but the endless blue in front

thinking, observing but really just being , swimming in the love one shares for its peers

suddenly a warm hand on the hips and an even warmer face appearing on the right

an open mouth, moving lips , sounds forming a song failing their purpose to express ones thoughts

the next memory being hanging heads-down on a strangers back, swinging right and left, becoming one with its steps

a strong arm grabbing the neck and the eyesight revealing the melting point between dark green pines and the white dunes

sinking in its labs, our eyes met, our souls touched and I lost myself in him

the foaming leftovers of a broken wave absorbed everything there was


the nostrils widen up and in flows the wooden cent of staged up pines and branches, moist, cool

the white endlessness left, yet the ground still carries its children, ice

the gaze was concurred by pure darkness bleeding shades of green, stabbed by dusted sunlight

the only thing moving is the sound in your head, loneliness, illusion, instinct

a crack,  needle stings of your rapid turing head and the smell of fear let your body shiver, your fur stands up

your lungs and the acid in your muscles burn as you dip into the intoxication of adrenalin,

then the pain hits, the pains of a claw

Irritation, time passing, and breathing out

welcome to your next chance of life


Los Angeles, Ultra violence, Lana Del Ray

the wind in the hair and stains from your favorite sunglasses burning on the back of your nose

even though his brick red mercedes cabriole is going 80 miles/hour, the weekend motorbike tourers are passing constantly

the combination of white teeth and the two perfectly round dimples on his cheeks leave no questions asked

the next thing on your memory is breathtaking, no, not just him, but the endlessness in front of you

you are fulfilling a cliché, standing on top of Hollywood, but so be it