à la main

Je te dessine à la main
Et toi tu ne bouges pas,
pendant une heure ou deux ou trois,
jusqu'à ce que brille le matin.
Je te dessine à la main.

Pourquoi il est toujours si tard,
quand on se voit à peine à travers
d'un couloir d'une taverne,
et je t'embête quand je parle ?
Pourquoi il est toujours si tard ?

À la fois t'es trop gentille
à la fois t'es juste chaumée,
tu cours et je te cours après.
Je te kiffe, je te haïs.

Je te dessine à la voix
une voix étrange qui te fait
très très légèrement marrer.
Je suis pour rien sinon à toi.
Je te dessine à la voix

Qu'est ce que tout cela veut dire?
Comment savoir si tu connais
que la plume de mon cœur est
fascinée par tes désirs ?
Qu'est ce que tout cela veut dire?

Je te dessine à la main.
Et toi tu ne bouges pas,
pendant une heure ou deux ou trois,
jusqu'à ce que brille le matin.


Ovidii Ars Amatoria liber primus

If there is someone who does not know what the art of romance is,
then he should read this book; read and he'll love like a pro.
Art's what impels swift vessels ahead by the sail and by paddle;
art makes chariots fast; art is the ruler of Love.
Just as Automedon handled the chariot aptly with slack reins,
as, on Haemonian stern, Tiphys was master at sea,
Venus has made me cunning and skillful at delicate courtship:
I'm the Automedon, I'm known as the Tiphys of love.
Amor is feral, it's true, and he often repudiates me, but
he is a boy, and his soft age is disposed to be ruled.
Chiron instructed Achilles the youth in the cithara's modes and
conquered his untamed mind with the harmonious arts.
He who had utterly frightened as many companions as foes is
said to have trembled before Chiron the feeble old man.
Hector succumbed to the same hands which, at the schoolmaster's bidding,
that young boy held out, ordered to suffer the whip.
Chiron was master of Aeacus' grandson; I of the Love god.
One was a merciless child, one was the son of a god.
Nevertheless, as the neck of the bull can be burdened by plowing,
and as the bit wears down spirited stallions' teeth,
just so will Amor accede to my wishes, despite the distress his
bow will inflict in my breast, waving his torch in my face.
Amor has pierced me with arrows, and violently scorched me, however
I will be all the more wroth venging the wounds he has made.
Phoebus, I shall not pretend that you gave me this art as a present,
nor that I've heeded the calls voiced by celestial birds,
nor that the sisters of Clio and Clio herself have been seen by
me as I tended the flocks, Ascra, in valleys of yours.
This is a work that experience motivates; hark to the prophet;
truth will I sing: as I start, Mother of Amor, be near.
Stay far, delicate headbands, modest insignia, stay far
long, chaste dresses that hide even the ankles and feet.
We'll sing songs about innocent lust and admissible intrigue,
and in the music I write there will be nothing corrupt.
Firstly, the girl you desire to love, you must strive to encounter,
you who are taking up arms now as a soldier of love.
Second, thereafter, your task is persuading the sociable lady;
thirdly your job is to make sure the affair can endure.
This is my method, and this is the ground that my chariot covers.
That is the turning-post worn down by the galloping wheels.


Fading Pain

you pull my heart apart from me
I try too hard to be happy

I know I can’t have what I need
You won’t give me anything sweet

You don’t have to believe my love
I’ll let you use my patience up

I won’t call you any mean names
You never called mine anyways

It hurts so bad I can’t explain
You leave me with a fading pain.


On the Cheek

Going around at a day at a time
he gets the feeling he's falling behind.
Traveling slowly and spurning the race,
only the planet can keep up the pace
Morning's already tomorrow and she's
burning the clouds that encumber his dreams.
It's a return to the what he likes best:
comfortable feelings of his loneliness,
Where is the lady he kissed on the cheek?
Wasn't her name Adelaide or Monique?
Chasing down girls on the boardwalk and then
letting them go and find prettier men.
Lights on the carousel dim as the dusk
settles upon the perennial dust.


Proem to Homer's Iliad

   Sing wrath, Goddess, the wrath of Achilles the son of Peleus,
ravaging, which put thousands of agonies onto Achaians,
which hurled numberless masses of valiant souls down to Hades,
souls of the pitiful heroes it made into spoils for dogs and
carcasses left to the birds. And the counsel of Zeus was accomplished
from that time when first both faced one another in contest
Lord of the men Agamemnon, Atreides, and god-like Achilles