In the early morning

GB. England. London. March 2022. ‘Self 07’ for Saint Laurent, curated by Anthony Vaccarello.


In the early morning


The sky cries loudly.

It calms down then rumbles.

All night long, it was sunny.


I think of you in the dazzling

And sulphurous mooing of the demented early morning.

I would like you to listen to this so cold song of the sea.

The night birds sing but the torrents grind.


I see gold in your infernal eyes.

The wind of the sky sweeps me;

I tremble like a weaned leaf.


Do you hear the noise of the door

That opens and closes itself

In my silence and your deep sleep?


Can you see? Everything vibrates around me;

And still I hear the sighs of winter

And the mute moans of my bones.

I am faggot in my loneliness.

My heart is the tornado…


I can sleep but  I would not like to suffer

from your heart and my heart

And of the hearts of my hearts

And of the heart of life

And of the heart of the world.


It rains in my entrails.

The cackles of my loneliness are crumbling me

And my fingers drool like the sky.


And here the lightnings which, in your eyes,

Interrupt, suddenly, the incantations of God,

And betray the secrets of the night

And the din of my silent words,

In the early morning of midnight.


Armel J. Ngamaleu

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