Five beats four lines one feeling

This dream I had last night is dear so odd
Of thoughts it could be but a silent stream
Your face was sun was soft in such a dream
I stop the quill, it quivers, quiet flood.

Villeurbanne, 1:50 am, Wed Oct 21, 2015

(translation in French below)

Cinq temps, quatre vers, un sentiment



Mon cher j’ai fait ce rêve la nuit d’avant
Des pensées c’est mais un calme courant
Dans ce rêve doux soleil était ta face
Je freine ma plume, tremblant le long flot glace.

Villeurbanne, 2:18 du matin, 21 Octobre 2015

Philosophy Café
Going downstream
Smoking
Its thoughts
Taking short drags

Trash Kant
Forget it all
One’s life upside down
A disappointed
Slow life
Trash Kant

If it’s without a hero
It is not Cicero
No one gives a ****
About any dame
Trash Kant
Yes, we can’t

Socraes would blush
If he heard the dialogues
Nothing would be written
Down a Decalogue
Sade’s sayings
Are insipid to them

Trash Kant
They pay the rent
To live in their
Oh, what a racket!
Pitiful alcohol
A risible sadness

And well they wouldn’t fare
In front of Charles Baudelaire
They only get of *****
The pensum
Trash Kant
No, we can’t






That’s an inspiration
A slow, peaceful
Aspiration
But you can’t get away
Without a sigh
And a bitter spleen


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne

Yes, I am nowhere near me
Ghostly guts, a tear-gas eye
Watery, blurry, glassy
Empty shell of an hourglass
Yet my soul sands still can see
A boisterous love that I
Only find petty, prissy
Through the white scattered mass
Of that blank body you blessed
I’d rather levitate than feel
This past present of peace pressed
Against my longing lips and heal
With a flask of forgetfulness
I’d rather be true to my pulse
Than break it all on an impulse
Leaving the once-too–happy shell
In a now dim and ***** dell

For this is in sorrow only
That you’re around yours truly.

November 17, 2015
Villeurbanne

******* pricey thought
Pretending to be a princess
I’ll catch him and rip his fancy
Dresses off cuz there’s no ecstasy
On his naked raked body
Old and possessed reeking ***
Smells of coke or ****
My ****** up American dream
Your hells, heels and hills
Your hits, ****, teals and tills
You and your exquisite cream
Of love–I’d rip you apart apart
From this adorable gait
Underneath that glorious golden Gate.

September 23, 2015
Villeurbanne

Despite the years, I still remember
The fruit of my desire I could not slay
Her delicious flesh, the reason of my vice
Her exquisite perfume, amidst some irirses.

Our nighttimes garden was her palace
Clad in her autumnal ablaze dress
An empress. I myself was her minion
In  an awful convulsion… I kissed her

Soon biting her, tearing her skin, my beauty
Avidly and ruthlessly I drained her
Screaming her name, mutinous, “Clementine!’’

As the star shot across the sky, I was long gone
And she fell, under the veil of a sad evening
A crow clawed at her then, in his mansion.


Translated on November 13, 2015
Villeurbanne

You came up to me
It was dark, under the trees
The squirrels were all gone
The  moon  timidly shone
Your hand from my hips
I didn’t push away
You came up to see
If you could kiss my lips
You did
And my clothes– later
You undid
And you were after
My love

Our bodies might
Want to see this slant
Of light in the loneliest night
But I simply can’t
Let you have it
Just because we feel
Simply because well, we… feel like it
We are humans, we’re real
Creatures of desire
We burn, but the bits of this fire
Don’t whisper we should say
Yes, at the end of the day
To anyone coming up to sell

Their passion or frustration
To you. This time, is their beauty
Say, human, pray tell
Enough for you to give them the mirage
Or the image
Of your eternity?
His flesh despised reason
Mine recoiled in horror
And my mind in this season
Saw with an indicible terror
That should my self give in to pleasure
I should at least make sure
That this desire driving me
Is nothing but… my nemesis, my enemy!


September 15, 2015
Villeurbanne

The poet is this divine being
Seeking soothing foreseeing
The inner core meaning of men
Mainly of the muses mourns the hem
Of their beauty now beholds the marble
Out of sacred skins sews his own fable

The poet is now ever never
Wherever whenever forever
Touch her take her tame her
She’s the color the lore altogether
Altogether… Alltogether… All to get–

her.

September 18, 2015
Villeurbanne, France