I wish y'all a dreary Christmas and a sappy New Year!

Just unearthed from the bottom of dusty drawers translations of old French poems from my talented friend Jillian Roberts, thought I would share to celebrate the celebrations.

this party’s too much

the wine was tepid
and the beer was cold
the blood was hot
under faces dulled

then me I was watching it
right in the white of the eyes
she who was laughing so loud
that she laughed as if twice
saw how this all was dead
in a way, for the best

but here, the silences
were not so uneasy
thanks to the tour de france
pedaling on the screen

that night, we were
a small committee
in the genre of five or six
and I played tetris
one sacred flat
with enough booze
a good twelve pack crew

hands in our pockets
butts in the beers
our wounds were wretched
all good for the stretcher

me, always, I would observe
the movement of the hands
that poured the cheap wine
there, on the coffee table
of pine
from ikea
some time one sentence or two
came to cut short
to the earthly repose
that turned us around
like a heinous mosquito

- uh, guys, you wouldn’t
have a cig to help out
even a rolled one?

- don't worry, we put plenty
of cartons in Andorre
in the snow jacket case

they said full of spirit
while the clown
fell asleep in its corner

i had come with empty hands
i set out once again
a livid glance
a heart full to the brim

completely naked


i wasn’t really naked
cause i was by myself
to wash myself
to go to bed
to touch myself

i was completely bare
when naked with you
under the light’s glare
i drank your voice

naked as a line
of ancient poetry
you took a breath
i took yours

the gravity of eyes
the levity of fingers
revealed only a slice
cause some’s still hidden

naked as an infant
innocent
ignorant
naked as a man
fragile
robust
naked in the breeze
naked on the sand
naked and at ease
naked comfortably
naked in the open air
naked in the freshwater
naked as bait
ready for the fish

i wasn’t really naked
cause i was all alone
i didn’t want it
few men want it

from now on
i fill my little ashtray
with useless things
i scan the clock
and the calendar

i tremble and sweat
at the crazy idea to finally
undress together
aided by our hands
each other’s
in the joy of morning
a torrid repetition !

from now on
i fill my little ashtray with junk
scanning the needles and the calendar