Benoît Pioulard - Whose Palms Create

Anchor as the Muse

Under the Break Arch

Of Everything That Rhymes

Initial B.P.

An Image Apart from Ourselves

With No Advantage

Shut-Ins on Sunday See

And Relent

A Shade of Celadon

The Very Edge of Its Flame

As Would a Weaver

That Wounded Weathered

The Gilded Fear That Guides the Flow

So Etched in Memory

Is in Its Clearest Form

Don't Make Me Wait Too Long

There She Goes

Easy On Me

Fantasy

Lie To Me

Damn

Sabela

Bir Garip Yolcuyum

Why Won't You Love Me

Hey Kop

Take Me Away

When We Were Young

Sign

PAIN

A Desert Born in Twilight