jeudi 22 mars 2012

No beating, no hitting

The gum is chewed and these are the stars in rose and minth

thinking to keep my way to the noise of sleep and pink

power of rain is the breath of a cloudy elephant as you sinneth

and the spot of red sand in south moon is nevermore the way you think

to make short, there were two and a half, tomatoes and garlic,

poison in the clean saintity of this milk of first madness to keep in.

letters to let on boxes of plastic and glory of the toilets

killed by this lady set on a plant of green blood of sea and electricity

killed by mute screen glasses and by your animal innocence

she used to patience on long trips as you were apparently happy

to be the garantee she filled the underground with your name and not hers

and is no substance in music, nor blood on your feathers, pure angel

you have been cruel and maybe soft to be killed by love.


As if they were my daughters, I give my counsel

to the roses flushing late at my door, silencious

and sometimes with tears of a strange joy, produced

by books, boy-friends, heart-breack and alcohol,

strange flowers on the tides of darkness of deep green and freeze,

this winter has come smart and gentle may be to kill forever the beat of my late rose.


One day I will meet the lady on the photo

the one that made me shiver in the repeated maniac night

we will be in the open, dancing on fresh grass and breathing the clouds of the end of time


Si tu joues une chanson dans chaque phrase

laisse moi tomber sur la moquette et respirer en pleurs

je suis peut-être heureux que tu soies venue

cette fois qui me revient en mémoire


les miasmes et l'ombre profonde où je dois rester calme

et ne pas renverser ce qui dort dans la noirceur innocente

et respecter la beauté de l'esclavage, l'injustice de l'équilibre

la liberté me semble une obsession, une fièvre que je mâche

pour pas la cracher sur ton corps, inconnue qui me sourit sur le strapontin


Let the year begin, the end of time is going to speak

you and me will hear the night owl's cry and the rain

neither i will repeat my castles in Spain, nor the high peack

as your kiss is the absence of a pearl in my chains


Scientology cops gazing the masses

messes of orgy stoning the tops of rat

and the kingdom of the rat is next to a dreaming cat.

Wich is Paris coaching ?


And this is tender

as the firsts yawls of thy son´s Fender.


I gave you a bit of sperm

nobody knows this inside you

abortion is just a pleasure of your thought

you ask me so much blood

because it's sweeter than a poor drop of male misery

I could agree it's better and starve meanwhile as I drink

hard coffee of disappearing downstairs

now I know the colour your master had set

on the dusty velvet of the steps to fever

good friends seem to me tormented

good friends sink and disolve on your black magic

and it is the command of my instinct

Queen Nature, naked truth, taking through your throat

and your fingertips' betrayal the whole mass of life on my bones


Mary went down.

To the strawberry place.

To hide her love of men.


A single titted girl, for a lover without head.


Didn't I tell you on your lips ?

Let me today say for instance

the tips of your broiding gesture on the glass

the red glass of dark hair covered by pink purple

unnamed cotton getting form and decay.

The castle of coffee cups and books,

and the joy of no matter in breasts


I shouldn't give wine to a child

as the cup and the glass and the swalow

follow the glance of evil in the bottle

but you, my daughter, are so needed

as music is needed of love


As the shape of a shade of grace

is the grey and the deep in charismatic smile of hers

she's a poet, girls are poets, serious girls are either,

and women like hers can have one toothe or one living love

for less


No beating, no hitting

for you. Even kissing

would have been

an error, as milk from a child

bee, or honey given by a virgin

cow, or taken from a dream.


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