When I follow my heart
and she follows hers
we just end up hurting each other
If you don’t know this, you don’t know hearts.
The truth may be dangerous
it’s still truth
and it will not save
what it must not save.
Ce qui rende grise la forêt
disparaît au petit jour
mais la forêt reste grise
comme restent gris nos cœurs
après le départ de ce qui les trouble
C’est rien, dit Dieu, que l’arrivée de l’hiver
et au petit jour de l’été
la forêt s’éclaircira
Et qu’est-ce que le petit jour que nous attendons
qui éclairera nos cœurs ?
Fog, or a billion suspended tears,
hung through our path,
dissociating appearance and the real.
Friends and enemies from thin air,
reach out your hand, nothing there.
We were on our way somewhere
and the light turned from our tired eyes.
We talked philosophy and early Miles Davis.
We thought: We were happier on Ninth Line,
why did You bring us out here to die.
We thought that as in video games
nothing takes shape till it gets near.
Nuit sur les Champs-Élysées,
pushing through the overloaded air.
Winter is always there,
what a betrayal, that through
each warm setting-sunlit field of grass
runs the threat of icy toes,
numb fingers on stiff denim,
kisses in the paper snows. Whenever
backs are turned, silence slithers in,
the heart to eat that beat when it unfroze.
Winter is everywhere,
the long green-shoot-less tundra surf
of this dry ocean. Her tired face,
so ill-used, a means of making friends, watches
matronly the ones she might have loved.
I too test too tiredly these shallow waves,
interest without interest, care without care,
the desire to make a move, to hover here.
Yes, friendship and even meeting places
can grow cold. Don’t turn to your
compartment-mate. Stare out the window.
And when you get up look briefly at all these
life-sharers you do not know.
I was walking
keeping one eye on either side
one to the road, one to the sky
I had flying on my mind
Had no reason,
jes’ decided to step on a crack
Felt like the road, head in the sky
Felt like breakin’ my mother’s back
sending the rain back to the clouds,
got no umbrella, got no intent
watch the lightning and the sounds
And it’s step, trip, fall, die
Never told my ma goodbye
get back home in time for tea
no one’s asking after me
And it’s one, two, three, four
ain’t go for a walk no more
the linear progression of time,
which is close enough
to encompass everything,
makes him sorely displeased
for he is being banished
to eternal absence of the heart
I didn’t know they
could take it from you
I underwent surgery; now I am sore
It was all done linearly:
I felt pain first,
was healed afterwards.
But now it’s backwards:
I’ve been healed, I’m very well
(thank you), and I’m healthy
but the pain is coming yet
and it may stay