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Les Mots Sauvages

Marginal poet. Pseudo-philosopher. Existential romantic. American-born, France-bound—gathering fragments of a broken life and calling it art.

Newsletter · By 𝙻𝚎𝚜 𝙼𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚂𝚊𝚞𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 · Official site

Indexed issues, last 90 days
14
Latest publication
Sep 26, 2026
Audience
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Earliest in this view
Jul 10, 2026

Latest issues

  1. Issue · Sep 26, 2026

    benedictio (opens the original)

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    Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedbenedictio you are the gospel of the water’s swell. (hallelujah) hums the waves. the sea: a stained-glass window of blue gods unbroken even by you. but you ruin the old men; an entire congregation of them. sipping dark liquor with tar-stained fingers, watching you (baptismal) in the silver break; hungry for the days when they still carried fire down the mountain. <p class="but

  2. Issue · Sep 25, 2026

    france, in fragments: 25 vendredi septembre - at the gates of cimetière du montparnasse (opens the original)

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    Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published« Come, let us march against the powers of heaven, And set black streamers in the firmament, To signify the slaughter of the gods. Come, let us charge our spears, and pierce his breast Whose shoulders bear the axis of the world, That if I perish, heaven and earth may fade. » - Christopher Marlowe -Tamburlaine the Great He goes to the cemetery to swallow the breath of the dead. He crawls inside the coffins w

  3. Issue · Sep 23, 2026

    how I came to the words (opens the original)

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    <img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="453" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!iplE!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fd3b775d4-fd75-4d1c-9c1e-ec9a71d12a50_604x453.jpeg"

  4. Issue · Sep 20, 2026

    delirium tremens (opens the original)

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    Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publisheddelirium tremens the morning: sun-drunk; inebriated with light. it is breath hot on us. she smells like warm gin wet earth the pale one in the green dress, and life isn’t so silent with the tongue in her barbarous mouth and her heart like the pit of a cherry. we take our oysters gritty and bright with lemon in the morning; dark coffee, hot-blooded. in the afternoon i read by the window, the leaves twisting a black kaleido

  5. Issue · Sep 15, 2026

    france, in fragments: mardi 15 septembre - on a train to la ville rose (opens the original)

    Excerpt · Critical tone

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    <img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="771.17160534028" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!iVno!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fae6f3920-52e5-4934-9d0a-59d06489a9a1

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