This Hill.

Paris #2

Social Media Girl #1

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Just Another Stranger #3

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Sunday morning slog

Sweating out a hangover

And grinding through

Last night’s bad decisions

I see an old woman

On a river-side bench

Staring off into the distance

She has a deeply-creased face

Large, crooked glasses

A gray, wispy pony-tail

And layers of faded pink dresses

On her lap is a book

I glimpse the title: Wuthering Heights

And for a moment I wonder

If her soul has been ravaged

By unrequited passion

And sleepless, tortured nights

If she’s thinking of her lost love

And a lifetime of missed chances

As she stares off into the sky

But I’m already choking on my

Next breath and

Running by

 

 

 

 


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I ain’t no hipster

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CRATE

hipster tree falls

I got plaid shirts
But I ain’t no hipster
I drink beers that’re bitter
But I ain’t no hipster
I quote philosophers on my twitter
But I ain’t no hipster
She says my beard scratches her
But I ain’t no hipster
I sometimes wear suspenders
But I ain’t no hipster
I prefer vinyl records over digital
But I ain’t no hipster
I listen to music that hurts
But I ain’t no hipster
I move into neighborhoods that are becoming bi-racial
But I ain’t no hipster
I shun things that are popular
But I ain’t no hipster
I own an old-fashioned typewriter
But I ain’t not hipster
I post links to poetry
on my facebook
Fuck.

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Irony hipster

Last Night At Sly Sam’s Secluded Swamp

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Moonshiners bw

 

Sitting on logs

Passin’ the bloody brisket

Y’all hear them croakin’ frogs

And the racket of crickets

Sippin’ on leftover

Bootleg moonshine

I’d say tomorrow

Boss’ll pay us a pretty dime

Now Sam, put that gun away.

Quit horsin’ around…

One more time I’ll say

Put that

 


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Pro-(Re)cess Vs. Res-(Ad)ults

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You can only celebrate

And dance for so long

On the summit

Of the Mt. you long

To reach.

So you might as well

Learn to savor

The taste of dirt

And the texture of rocks

For all the times you

Face plant

On the way

Up.

 
 


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Wisdom and a Brief Confession

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Heart from a book page against a beautiful sunset.

Actions

Speak

Louder

Than Words

 

Yo mama

is

Loud

in bed.


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The Simple Glory of a Hot Shower

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After a run

On a cold rainy day

Sit around for a while

In damp clothes

Develop a shiver

Wait until the extremities numb

Then turn that hot water on

Step beneath that stream

Close the eyes and realize…

This is a fucking miracle.

 

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Insomnia #15

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There are lifetimes

Contained in breaths

Cycles and seasons

Of birth and death

Can these mortal passing thoughts

Be merely electrical signals caught?

Briefly, instantaneously

Between the scattered synapses

Billions of electrical field gradients

Shining as varied patterns bent

As magnetic resonance images

Are anxiety and hope only the blinking battery messages?

Joy and despair chemical scrimmages?

Limitless combinations of reflective cinemas

How can these electric mazes be

Conscious of the game and change the game maybe they only

Tame or frame categorize reality to maintain, stay sane?

I should close the curtain because I’m certain

I won’t be able to sleep with the neighbor’s light

Another labored electrical device

Affecting my fading sight

I might just close my eyes tight

That’s right all right don’t fight just listen to the

Sounds of the night.

 
 
 
 
 

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J’avoue #1

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English Translation Below

Beaucoup de gens

M’ont demandé

Pourquoi

Ai-je

Décidé

D’aller

En France.

J’ai

Donné

Des raisons différentes à

Chaque personne.

Parce que

Si je donnais

La vraie

Raison

Que j’ai quitté les États-Unis

Parce que Julien Sorrel a refusé l’offre

De Fouqué qui apportait richesse mais

Petite gloire

Et puis il découvrit une petite grotte au milieu de la pente presque

Verticale d’un des roches dans les montagnes

Au-dessus de Verrières et

Il vit s’éteindre, l’un après l’autre

Tous les rayons du crépuscule…

Et son âme s’égarait dans la contemplation

De ce qu’il s’imaginait rencontrer

Un jour à Paris…

Personne ne me croirait.


I Confess #1

Many people

Have asked me

Why

I

Decided

To go

To France.

I

Have given

Different reasons to

Each person.

Because

If I gave

The real

Reason

That I left the United States

Because I read a French novel

And discovered a passage

In it that moved me so deeply

That I looked out the window

At the streets of Bed-Stuy

And told myself that one day,

Whether in 5 or 25 years,

I would move to Paris

And learn the language

And submerge myself in the culture

To understand the foundations and elements

That created the words

Which shook my soul…

Nobody would believe me.


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Paris #7

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English Translation Below

Thanks to Bertrand Hauger-enard / Riddley Walker

 

Hier, au petit-déjeuner

J’ai bu un expresso, mangé un pain au chocolat puis

 J’ai pris un train SNCF, un bien joli train.

 

Malgré l’achat d’un billet,

Je me suis assis sur le sol,

Car il ne restait plus de places.

 

Après la quiche pour le déjenuer

J’ai manqué mon train

Mais j’ai pris le suivant sans billet

Et je n’ai pas été dérangé et j’ai pris un siege.

 

J’ai parlé avec un Haïtien étudiant

En économie à la Sorbonne.

Nous avons convenu que Paris est trés jolie.

 

Dans le metro, pendant que je mange une baquette

Et que je bois mon quatrième expresso

Un sans-abri au visage en décomposition me saisit par l’épaule

Et dit: DONNE MOI ÇA, JE SUIS COMME TOI !

 

Plus tard, j’ai lu de la poésie pour la première fois à La Recyclerie

Situé à côté d’un KFC. C’était sympa. J’ai commondé un whisky coca,

Mail il n’y avait pas de coca, je l’ai donc bu avec du soda au gingembre.

Beaucoup de gens fumaient à l’extérieur et il y avait des cabines privées.

 

Dans le RER du retour, j’ai vu un homme ivre crier après une femme :

TU EST JOLI ! La femme a ri : Tu est gentil

Puis l’homme m’a donné un coup de coude au visage en disant :

Désolé, aide-moi, ourvre la fenêtre.

J’ai ouvert la fenêtre pour qu’il puisse fumer.

 

En rentrant à la maison, j’ai écouté Orelsan au casque puis j’ai dormi 12 heures.

 

Au matin, on a frappa à ma porte. Un homme en uniforme m’a tendu une carte et a dit :

Nous vous surveillons, vous et votre de vie, depuis un peu moins de 5 mois.

Voici votre carte de citoyenneté.

Bienvenue en France.

 


 

Yesterday, during breakfast

I drank an expresso and eat a pain au chocolat

Then I took the SNCF train, a nice train.

 

Despite buying a ticket

I sat on the floor

Because there were no more seats left.

 

After quiche for lunch

I missed my train

But I took the next one without a ticket

And I wasn’t bothered. I had a seat.

 

During the ride I talked with a Haitian student

Who was studying economics at The Sorbonne.

We agreed that Paris is a very pretty city.

 

At the metro, while I eat a baguette and drank my 4th expresso,

A homeless man with a decaying face grabbed my shoulder and yelled:

GIVE ME THAT! I AM JUST LIKE YOU!

 

Later, I read my poetry for the first time at La Recyclerie,

Which is next to a K.F.C.

It was nice.

I ordered a whiskey and coke, but they didn’t have coke,

So I had a whiskey and ginger ale instead.

There were lots of people smoking outside and there were private booths.

 

On the RER train back home I saw a drunk man yell at a woman,

“YOU ARE PRETTY.” She laughed and replied, “You are kind.”

Then the man elbowed me in the face and said,

“Sorry, help me, open the window.”

I opened the window so he could smoke.

 

Walking home, I listened to Orelsan on my headphones then slept 12 hours.

 

In the morning there was a knock on my door.

A man in a uniform handed me a card.

“We have been watching you and your lifestyle for just under 5 months.

Here is your citizen card.

Welcome to France.”

 


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Paris #4

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(For the original French, scroll down)

“An outburst of emotion

Is always absurd

But it is sublime

Because it’s absurd.”

-Charles Baudelaire

 

A homeless man yells, “Fuck the Bourgeois!”

While wearing a suit

A young girl, without a helmet, riding a motorcycle with her dad

Shouts, “Woot! Woot!”

A young man shrugs his shoulders and laughs

At his broken toilet

A shirtless woman kisses a man

While leaning out a window, with an air of “who gives a shit?”

 

Lazy, reckless, rude…perhaps

Or visionary, brave, and honest.

 


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“Le cri du sentiment

Est toujours absurde:

Mais il est sublime,

Parce qu’il est absurde.”

-Charles Baudelaire

 

Un sans-abri hurlant, “Baise le Bourgeois!”

Vêtu de vêtements impeccables

Une jeune fille, sans casque de vélo, à moto avec son pére

En train de crier: Incroyable!

Un jeune homme en train de hausser les épaules

Et de rire de ses toilettes cassées

Une femme sans chemise embrasse un homme

En se penchant à la fenêtre, blasée.

 

Paresseux, téméraire, grossier…peut-être

Ou visionnaire, courageux, et honnête.