Sunday, November 26, 2006

Quand elle rit aux éclats


Elle se déhanche, s’avance, se penche
Rousse, provocante, elle te mate, elle te vampe
Toi, tu sais déjà, qu’il n’y aura plus qu’elle
Son corps, sa voix qui t’ensorcellent
Tu ne vois pas qu’elle t’épie, qu’elle te guette
Quand, avec d’autres, elle rit aux éclats

Fatale, elle se pâme, t’alarme, te désarme
S’appuie sur ton épaule, s’accroche à tes paroles
Toi, tu crois déjà qu’elle chancelle et chavire
Quand, alanguie, elle frémit et soupire
Tu n’est comprends pas qu’elle est
de celles qui charment
Avec leur corps et sans leur âme

Elle se déhanche, s’avance, se penche
Frivole, elle papillonne,
se pose et puis s’envole
Toi, tu sens déjà ton coeur qui se lézarde
Tu donnerais tout pour qu’elle s’attarde
Tu n’imagines pas q’elle l’épie,
qu’elle le guette
Quand, avec toi, elle rit aux éclats

Tu ne vois pas le piège
qui fera voler ton coeur en éclats

- D. Klein / B. Lauzin

Into twilight.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Everyday


every day
you feel it slipping
away
slowly
sadly
silently

every day
you wake up with
a little less hair
confidence
and life
as continental drift
takes you
one step closer
to Vegas
even while you’re
having a shit

every day
the ocean rises a little
and still can’t drown
the swarming
scum above and
every day
some fireball blazes
across space
a few thousand miles closer
to your mirror
and matching
shoes & belt
but not enough to scare
the few thousand
that have starved
in the meantime

every day
in every way
and just like you
I wake up
a little bit less
compassionate

Into starlight.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Burning bright


in essence, the generally accepted poetry today has a kind of glass outside to it, slick and sliding, and sunned down inside there is a joining of word to word in a rather metallic inhuman summation or semi-secret angle, this is a poetry for millionaires and fat men of leisure so it does get backing and it does survive because the secret is in that those who belong really belong and to hell with the rest, but the poetry is dull, very dull, so dull that the dullness is taken for hidden meaning - the meaning is hidden, all right, so well hidden that there isn't any meaning, but if YOU can't find it, you lack soul, sensitivity and so forth, so you BETTER FIND IT OR YOU DON'T BELONG. and if you don't find it, KEEP QUIET.

- Charles Bukowski

Into starlight.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Daydream


and these are my
hands
that falter and waver
in the wind

they are
slaves to my
eyes
that feel
a bit too much
maybe

but they're
more real
than your words

look me in the eyes

Into starlight.