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Spleen (Spleen)

I know more than if I’d lived a thousand years
Open your drawers filled with plastic souvenirs
Old journals pens and maps of city streets
Broken watches and restaurant receipts
My sad brain holds more than these things you have hid
A sand-covered lost undiscovered pyramid

With more dead than a dark collective tomb
I’m a graveyard unmolested by the moon
My worms always tracking their necrotic prey
Enabling my precious corpses’ slow decay

I’m an old dusty boudoir filled with brown crusty roses
And outmoded dresses hung inn moth-eaten poses
Where a pale Thomas Kinkade hangs watching the room
Breathing open old deserted stale perfume

Nothing drags quite like these endless days
I limp through the snow as it melts away
So that boredom, the fruit of our sad apathy
Can germinate, bloom, and then ripen to immortality

Your time’s done, oh epoch of the breath and skin
What was flesh is marble in the scouring wind
Unmoving in the hazy desert night
The Sphinx sits staring, eyes bereft of sight
Buried to the neck, lost in the dunes
With the setting sun he sings his tune

–Translated by T-Roy Martin

[Original poem here.]

Spleen (Spleen)

January hates the whole god damn town
Spits out the icy wetness of her black disdain
On the pale corpses in the cemetery ground
And the sorry living forced to face the sleet and rain

My ancient cat yowls wandering the floor
Seeking comfort from her mangy coat
While a specter screams and howls just outside my door
A dead poet struggling with his phantom throat

There’s a distant sub-woofer as the heat kicks on
The clock on the mantle clucks right along
As the cards are shuffled I can smell the stale perfume

Of a woman, quiet sickly and long-gone
The Jack of Hears and the Queen of Spades are drawn
They sneer in rueful memory of their lost love’s doom

–Translated by T-Roy Martin

[Original poem here.]

Spleen (Spleen)

I’m like that king of a rainy land
A hard-weathered figurehead, a wealthy but withered young man
Just as bored with obsequious tutors as he
Is bored with his hounds and the beasts of his menagerie
Not sport, not his falcon, no manner of toy
No not even the pleas of his suffering subjects can bring him joy
His best fool’s lascivious ballads of death
Fail to distract from the pain of each labored breath
The Royal bed’s become his tomb
The ladies-in-waiting hover in his room
They whore themselves up in vain hope they’ll evince
An affectionate smile from their quarry; the skeleton prince
The alchemist who draws out gold from lead
Cannot elicit relief from the tired royal head
And though ancient Romans bathed in blood-filled pools
This favored tonic among those who rule
Will never warm this corpse’s veins, they flow
With Lethian ooze; Thick tepid, green and slow.

–Translated by T-Roy Martin

[Original poem here.]

Spleen (Spleen)

When the sky’s a coffin lid that’s pressing down
On my spirit, buried with with its prized ennui
The ring of the horizon changes round
To a dark day bleak as any night could be

When the world’s a dungeon lined with dripping stones
And Hope’s a bat that’s fluttering around
Smacking granite walls that crush its flesh and bones
Bleeding out, it suffers, twitching on the ground

When the streaks of rain / Paint the window panes
Like the steel-barred sills of prison cells
Silent spiders strain / Spinning webs in our brains
Show their loathsome skills as their egg-sacs swell

While carillons ring out their furious boasts
Roaring clanging howling tunes up to the skies
The highways are jammed with sad wandering ghosts
Reaching nobody with their impotent cries

Silent hearses hauling fresh-harvested souls
Ignore my curses–Pay no heed they’re full
Leave my slouched corpse to languish. Through the kingdom they roll
The Queen of Anguish plants her flag in my skull.

–Translated by T-Roy Martin

[Original poem here.]

An idea an essence a being
Fell from the sky so blue
Into a river Styx made of lead
That even God’s eye can’t see through

In love with a malformed mutant
An Angel foolishly fell
Into a nightmare ocean
And drowns now in the depths of Hell

He’s caught in a whirlpool that pirouettes
And sings like a psycho in space
He gropes in the dark for a key or a light
A way out of this lizard-filled place

He tumbles down endless stairs
He can smell that the hole is bottomless
Slimy monsters are watching him
With glowing eyes of phosphorus

He’s a ship caught in the ice
He’ll never find his way out
The Devil sure knows his job
He’s a master beyond any doubt
The heart is a mirror
That shows its own face
A dying star flickers
A beacon in space

Satan’s one blessing
Glorious and true
We who do evil
We know what we do
We know when we’re doing The evil we do

–Translated by Jeffrey Dorchen

[Original poem here.]

The Clock (L’Horloge)

Clock! Clock! Clock!
You are an evil god
You threaten me with your digit
And say, “Remember, you idjit!”

Clock Clock Clock
Your cold heart throbs with my pain
To the ends of the earth all my pleasures
Disappear from the stage like vapors

Clock Clock Clock
You eat every moment of time
From each man you suck and you swallow
Till his season of living is hollow

Tock tick tock
Thirty-six hundred times in a circle
You sound like a cricket
Each second you tick it
You pump out my life with your snorkel

Remember Souvien-toi Esto memor
Your throat made of metal and glass
Can speak any tongue
That ever has rung

From now to the far distant past

Clock Clock Clock
You mock and you mock and you mock
You urge me to search for the treasure
Hidden in each moment’s measure

Clock Clock Clock
You make me play the game
You know there’s no chance of me beating
Time who can win without cheating

Remember Remember Remember
The daylight dies in its embers
The night gets darker and darker
The thirsty void never stops drinking
The sand from the hourglass shrinking

Virginity, Risk and Repentance
Their voices will soon state my sentence
Like cuckoos that cuckoo the hour:
“It’s too late, too late
Face up to fate
It’s time to die, you old coward”

–Translated by Jeffrey Dorchen

[Original poem here.]

Wrap the sun in a French pancake
Wrap the moon the same
Sleep or smoke or just lie silent
Even be bored if you want

I love you like that
I love you Satan
I love you demon, demon, demon

But if you feel like leaving the shadows
If you’d rather strut your stuff
Jump like a switchblade into the spotlight
With your eyes on fire

I love you like that
I love you Satan
I love you demon, demon, demon

You’re everything to me
You make me happy
Red sun at dawn or black of night
You make me feel good

I love you like that
I love you Satan
I love you demon, demon, demon

–Translated by Jeffrey Dorchen

[Original poem here.]

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