The Fatal Moment

Toward an ars poetica, no. 3

Carefully picked and placed
some words make up a poetry
we need only love words
to write a poem
we don’t know what we say
in that, poetry is born





Toward an ars poetica, no. 6

Black inkpot in the moonlight
Black inkpot in the moonlight
In the moonlight a black inkpot
In the moonlight a black inkpot
Loaned his pen to the poor poet
Loaned his pen to the poor poet
It’s a bit cool tonight
In the moonlight a black inkpot
The pen raced on white paper

The pen raced in little black lines
A white moon a dark inkpot
Are the father and mother of this newborn
A white moon a dark inkpot





The archipelago

The archipelago was a good old man
Who let his devil children of islands
Run down the drift
But when one of them
Got lost
Eaten by a nasty volcano
Then he declared martial law
And in the public square shot
The foreskin of the one who had made this sad event





Shadow of a doubt

Don’t know what goes on here
on this big old blue sphere
that was just for the rhyme
and to tell those who scoff
that they can go fuck off
and have a grand old time

here we’re all idiots
which we can all admit
for what else could we be
when, after death’s throes
when the end we fine’ly know
we just say RIP

so men go here and there
as if without a care
c’est la vie, ugh, who wants that
and it’s defnitly death
that, after final breaths
leaves fyoonrals in our path





If you imagine

If you imagine
If you imagine
Little girl little girl
If you imagine
If you imagine
It will it will it will
Last forever
The season of lah
Season of lah
Season of love
You are wrong
Little girl little girl
You are wrong

If you think, little one
You think oh,
Oh, what a rosy face
Your waspy waist,
Your cute biceps,
Your painted nails
Your nymph’s legs and your light step

If you think, little one
It will it will it will
Last forever
You are wrong
Little girl little girl
You are wrong

The good days
Have passed
The good feast days
Suns and planets
turn around us
But you, my little one,
You walk straight
Toward what
You don’t see
The insidious approaching
The quick wrinkle,
The heavy fat,
The triple chin
The slouched muscle,
Go and gather
Roses roses
Roses of life and
May their petals be
The still sea
Of all your gladness
Go and gather
If you don’t do it
You are wrong
Little girl little girl
You are wrong.