The Cow

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You and your stealing.
This poor man has been waiting
You don’t need her to gaze all day long.
She says blood came from her mouth.

It’s an amulet I bought for her,
on the ground, with blood everywhere.
The moon will come out
I can’t come.

He has wounds and scars
My life… my dear.
Dear god and savior,
Any person or animal dies

Maybe it was a snake.
all over his body now.
Let’s go, let’s go back.
he’ll find her.

Think of a solution.
Oh God.
Every time I hear a sound
I don’t know.

His wife will tell him
and looked for yourself this morning.
Shake her arms
I saw them with my own eyes.

It’s terrible…I’m ruined.
I want to go home.
I haven’t gone anywhere.
to hang around her neck.

Music:
You’d better go hide
Leave him alone, let him be.
Everything.

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A Man Who Sleeps

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You believe that you are
in a ray of sunlight,
You are alone.

the succession of days,
The sandwich-men of the true faith
the forty-eight remaining cards,
the monsters in their Sunday best,
the slyboots, the old boys.
the same imperfect circle in the sand,
the addresses, the telephone numbers,
the world;
The cracks in the ceiling
The hand on to your coat tails,
The dead hours,
the faith healers, the enlightened,
The monster with their big families,
the black stumps
the tap on the landing,
the covered markets rotting away,
the cares, the stations, the metro,
the smiles and the voices.
the public urinals,
the flight of shadows and light.
the scraggy widows who protect pets.
the sinuous lines of a thin crack
the poverty, the need,
the flakes, the stains,
the window,
the workers,
the thousand and one detours
the one on whom history
the spots where it is attached to the flesh;
the limpid, the transparent one.
the actions you have eschewed:
the bookshops,
The faint chugging of a stationary
the rats, the cats, and the monsters.
the sad chansonniers out
the walls, as if they were
the cries of joy,
the blocks of flats
the flow of time,
The smoke from your cigarette,
the bustle and the forgetting.
the days and the seasons.
the trees, the water, the stones,
the weeks, the seasons slip by,
the indigestible chore of tucking into
the rising and falling of your rib-cage,
the monster crowd.
the wallpaper of which
the equestrian statues,
the deaf-mutes with their berets
the stream of traffic,
the breath in your face.
the lines around your eyes,
the pathetic champions
The heat in your room,
the lobbies of the grand hotels,
the same amputated gesture,
the dripping tap on the landing,
the abused orphans selling table-mats,
the first cigarette,
the patterns in the tiling,
the same journeys that lead nowhere?
the contours,
the revelers on a binge,
the fat men and the forever young,
the sounds never quite cease altogether,
the gaze of others.
The old lunatics, the old lushes,
the whistle of his kettle.
The parks whose railings imprison you,
the old bags in their furs who try
the hours,
the heaviness of your limbs,
the monstrous factory gates.
the dotards who clear their throats and
The sun beats on the
The banished,
the self-satisfied, who think they know,
the fleeting reflections
the rain,
the local cinema which
the after that,
the peasants lost in the big city,
the windows,
the approach of night.
the narrow bed in search of an ashtray,
the public gardens, the museums,
the bed and the bookshelf,
the dripping tap on the landing,
the noises that your neighbour makes,
the bitterness in your Nescafe.
the clouds that form
the avenues, drifting through the city,
the East and west by Rue Saint-Honore.
The snare: the dangerous
the exiles.
the neutral moments,
the night in which, alone amidst
the fences, the water’s edge.
the six socks, indolent sharks,
the shame that has become inexorably
the changing traffic lights
the pipe laying,
the robust joys of illiteracy,
the Brylcreem-boys, the stinking rich,
the petrified dustbins, the vacant
the incessant murmur of the city.
the pariahs,
The old school teachers who have
the shelf, your knees,
the moment when the four cleared spaces
the key left under the mat
the same sanctuaries:
the washbasin that is so tiny it
the festering swamps near the sewer outlets,
the harmless monsters
the fifty-two cards on your narrow bed. The monsters in their tens,
the entrance to the Catacombs,
the predictable drop from
the bowl,
the hours,
the shelved books:
the bridges between you and the world.
the narrow bed where
the tilt remains insensitive

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Arabian Nights

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Fidelity is splendid, but
see me?

To port there is a shadow
Son, it is I, your father

I’m glad I was shipwrecked and
Do what you like to me,

Peeled sweet pomegranate
Perfumed meadow grass

I love her without seeing her.
won’t go unpunished

and makes love to me
Then have a marble tombstone carved,

ensure your ink flows
To serve God

What did you do to break her heart?
against the rocks below

Lie on the bed
ardent tears have fallen

I know science and literature
Two twigs of myrtle

But dirty from their journey
the melon to the plum

Look at the ceiling
Such was my grief

our lives, nothing more
But when a dove was caught

Pull your trousers down
Give me all of yourself

She left some words for you
punish you

Love drives you wild.
dressed in black

different drugs
the arms of your beloved?

but in many dreams
they make you swallow bitter pills

a blue-eyed man
amber, musk and candlewax

I hope to die
Neither of us has won.

I sentence this blue-eyed man to be
of the monastery

Honey cake
was caught by a bird of prey

tell the whole story
While my soul remains in this

and his beauty enchants me
On the terrace, alone and crying

As the poet said:
the plain love the beautiful

a blue-eyed man
Your candle is soft. It rises when

The coin is her right eye,
She will come at dawn

for the tenderness of this cheek,
of youth

my heart is torn between
the words I have recited

My story is long
it’s more than it’s worth

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Fe

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All, to a man, praised
It is like the scales
is wait.

He was at a loss what to do.
blooms no more.
reciting poems,

Flowers aren’t falling…
When a creature dies,
but radiates in silver tones.

his prowess.
Rusty steel, smells like blood.
both bigger and harder.

at these words.
trembling in the wind,
and kill all within.

fireplaces were lit,
Men could not
Feel it.

But one night,
petals shall rain
flowers bedecked

The branches grow
Pictures of branches
in my place.

withdrew his bow.
closed his eyes.
A mountain-sized monster lives

He was even a little sad.
gathering nuts, making houses
Yes, but never a picture

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Letter Never Sent

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Today is your birthday.
True, but not a consolation.
No to faintheartedness.
This is Fatherland

he acted heroically,
of simple arithmetics.
feeling but not knowing.
The war. The forest.

Search parties are looking for you.
to wrench out the secret
And I feel it.
almost a thousand pages.

it’s no weight at all!
She is joy.
Even if unreciprocated.
my life for this feeling.

Autumn is here.
the rest of our lives.
Please.
The feelings.

All radio stations
weaker every day.
Dancing, dancing, dancing.
The land parties

diamond deposits are.
A mirage,
I dislike the noise
The great and courageous

forest fires are raging.
And dream of a wide river…
And it will say in gold letters,
numb inside from fear.

looking for other men’s treasures.
My heart was aching,
heroically. Over.
to weakness.

and I saw love and anxiety
and search, and search again…
I cannot die.
in your eyes.

You love a girl who loves
The scientists maintain that
It’s simple arithmetics.
in this smoke.

All will be like you dreamed of:
discovery.
Dear friends.
are looking for your signal.

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The Lovers

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and when our morning comes,
I’ll take care of you.
Until noon.

In my memories
The walls, these things.
my heart.

It’s still our night,
to fill the silence.
It can be sleek or windswept,

I’m not angry.
Speaking.
but there’s nothing special about it.

I’ve told you a thousand times:
hours of dawn,
suddenly bathed her

The night is a woman.
but on a nice day
the verdant paradise of childhood.

You’re unrecognizable.
but she regretted nothing.
like weathervanes.

Moonlight is fine,
all shame and restraint fall away.
phony everything.

Her world was falling apart.
A figure of speech.
My sweet.

Play all the records you like.
Light a candle
My angel.

I never saw you
in its silver beam.
It’s too far from the sea for me.

and on warm nights,
You look sad.
unsure of ever recapturing

You’ve no doubt heard
she were someone else.
glowing in my eyes.

The wind’s shifted.
And leaves you stranded.
of marriage.

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Fists in the Pocket

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Some people earn
the Son and the Holy Spirit.
the courage to kiss her.
Pour.
Anything.

The ink bottle.
or the devil
but not for a lost cause.
tame your horses upon our hills.
leaving in the darkest despair

A youth of heavenly beauty
Come back down to earth.
or end up paralyzed.
You disappoint me.
As always.

despite my fears.
We all have our own lives.
three million a year.
reading each other’s diary.
the window a little.

Now get undressed.
Good grief.
You’re breathing.
With these hands,
Remember your signals

most grief-stricken of mothers.
You haven’t touched
This woman,
I should have known.
happen has already happened.

your youthful years
Mourning cards.
A love poem to me.
and tell me if I’m not entitled.
into something.

You and me.
Just wait and hope
and keep us in his holy ways.
for a while.
I assumed you’d forgotten

I’m so unhappy.
for drawing one flower.
I end up begging,
Some control.
in the world.

She keeps asking for you.
You were dreaming,
Wait for me. Bye.
and desperation
My lesson.

I lied this morning.
Don’t be afraid.
a word out of me.
would have weighed on me,
They’re burning everything.

or he’ll bite his tongue.
tried by lifelong misfortune
and he’ll walk off
Sleep, sleep.
between here and there.

 

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