So toll the bells, the bells of Hell, my soul;

So when I hear the knell of bells from Hell

Then I can pay as well the hellish toll

To quell these heart-whole tears and say farewell

And so I creep and grope in Hell’s morass,

Up his steep slope Ephyra’s king still lopes

Where Ocnus shapes his rope to feed his ass,

Near pool and grapes untouched which Atys gropes.

So shall I find you there and pay the fare?

The ferryman shan’t wait for man nor child

Nor me, bereft, heart-sick, gone wild to bear

The loss of love, of you, unreconciled.

And lo! My steps will lead me back in kind

Without the one I went to Hell to find.

She sleeps with me under the sheets,

A little ball of fur and joy,

Snoozing, curled up, warm and sweet,

She dreams of walks, her precious toy,

And when she dreams, she kicks her feet,

Chasing rabbits with her boy,

Whose dream will see him without mirth:

His dog's last day upon the earth.

April 21

These numbers

June 23

These dates

March 1

Marking your entrance

March 26

Marking your exit

April 7

Have been carved into my heart

September 30

With a rusty nail

June 21

Wielded by a wrathful zealot

September 24

Hell-bent on pain

November 4

I dreamed of Bordeaux last night

I was there

Place du Parlement at a chic restaurant

Talking with an old friend who cherished me

He was explaining to me the nuances

And subtleties of the subjunctive

And a mocking laugh escaped me

I was there

Place de la Victoire at a full bar

I yelled at the bartender

What I wanted to drink

In a thick American accent

I was there

Place Gambetta at an elegant café

I saw the rich bourgeois pass by

And the über-sexy guys

I want to kiss the person to my left

I was there

At the Fnac downtown

I was looking for the new Daho album

That I had seen earlier at Virgin

Where a young blonde was humming a melody

I was there

In front of the Grand Théâtre

I was waiting for the bus at midnight

When the hour chills me to the quick

I cover myself with my coat

I was there

Next to the Palais Gallien

In a maid’s quarters

I saw it through a dirty window

The sunrise covered it with colors

I was there

In front of the cathédrale St. André

Where I was contemplating the spires

At the supermarket at Mériadeck

Where a senile old man shoves me with his cart

I was there

On the bank of the Garonne

Where a beautiful and thick water flows like my love for you

At the rue Ste. Cathérine

Where I stumble, drunk with the Danes

I was there

In my bed

In your arms

Sleeping heavily

Happy to be there and there and there…

the city is in bloom

i see everywhere the violet of

jacarandas jacarandas

like a primitive cry

a lamentation

may has finally arrived

pretty may covers the sidewalk

with violet flowers

that stick to the feet

of careless pedestrians

and my grief is violet

like those sticky flowers

i am no longer able to sing

certain songs without crying

without thinking of you of us

your impish smile

your shitty sayings

where are they? where are you?

when will may go away?

i am sick of this month

that i loved long ago

my memories about you float

like debris in the ocean

shipwrecked without anchor, not

cemented like the bricks

of dates, facts, and other random bullshit

may is in

grief is in flower

is in may is

in violet is in

you

and i want to flee from

this violet month that

this month without you where

Venice today

I drive there

The music loud in my ears

I sing along

Sunscreen all over my nose

Once arrived

Once parked

Sunglasses

Others do the same

The boulevard stretches the length of the beach

Where you see tourists of all ages

The sun warms me up and browns my skin

I stop to get a henna tattoo on my back

The Chinese symbol representing pleasure

My only goal is to wander at my leisure

The ocean, the sand, the soft wind cradles me

I think of you and the losses pierce me

I had already felt all those tears

To make myself better, to cure my heart

Cigarette lit, I draw it into my lungs

Remembering the sweetness we once had

An old woman with chestnut hair sees me coming

She calls me over to read my fortune

I pretend not to hear her

But I only want to understand it

T-shirt off, a book under my arm

I stroll, my heart bruised, without you

Our song plays in my head again

My thoughts are a sick and unhealthy storm

Venice today

And I flee

Without being able to escape

You and the city of my thoughts

There where one wanders along your banks

Among the crowds of boys with mohawks

The music of Vivaldi is always beautiful

At St. Martin-in-the-Fields lit by candles

Next to the Thames your joggers run there

The red headed kid was afraid at the Tower

The museum that had formerly been a factory

A man from Chicago with blue eyes and fine hair

The couples who walk like in a dream

Hand in hand and smiling like your Eve

The city of London celebrates the night

Despite the weather they love being and living there

That tomato woman whose breasts sagged

Bringing a heavy suitcase and yet

She prefers her rural and miniscule town

Where she would never be elbowed by a pretty crowd

The march of history you hug it to you

In your arms, at the feet of the railway

And I leave for Paris almost without effort

I think of you and my light heart beats harder

Your tongue belongs to you, o mysterious isle

It sets you apart, makes you seem serious

There is the basalt church which watches from on high

The perpetual days that you promise me

The flowers, and the trees, the cinnamon and the incense

A cold and gentle rain that awakens the senses

The foxes, the birds and lastly the horses

Know the dusky insomnia and daytime slumber

The young and the old both love to walk around

The new and the ancient cohabitate here everyday

The taxis which prowl in the midnight sun

The boys who play a game in the rain

The city of Reykjavik postpones the night

The rain your pitiless rain

The rain which would freeze the heart of a devil

There is the nightclub where you tell me

A story of a rakish blond who was covered in shame

There is the nightclub where you drink and you dance

Here the pure air makes distances deceptive

There is the picturesque square where you see the photos

The eyes of my eyes and the skin of my skin

The blonds and redheads, tall and beautiful like they should be

I see the traces of a people of a thundering race

Your houses painted with bright and ardent colors

Your Viking blood of which you are proud

Completes your joy like the music of a prayer

There is Laugavegur Road, avenue of souvenirs

You stretch out and you watch the tourists come

You live in a dream where I cannot be

And still a florist smiled at me through her window

It is you, Dawn, o cruel and bitter goddess

Without sleep you watch over this city by the sea

And you, seated on the chest of your lover

You beg him, your eyes on him, like a song

You repeated his name with tenderness and love

While I was watching day break

You, magnificent, glorious and ardent

You repeated that word with a fervent and soft voice

Hali

Hali

Hali

Hali

A word a name more precious than gold

You filled my heart with hope like Pandora’s box

And when you both had at last gone

I cried I cried for these two lovers

And your song echoed in my head in my heart

Louder than a beautiful hymn murmured by a choir

Hali

Hali

Hali

Hali

At a famous café I eat waffles – what a meal!

Before leaving I must do some shopping

You amaze me, little town, moreover you surprise me

I have no desire to leave you in haste

And if I return one day, will you accept me?

A poet whose language you do not know?

Where has the old gentleman from the beginning of summer

Gone who said hello and smiled at this foreigner?

You are large, little town and more beautiful than ever

It seems to me that you wanted to banish the night

But one day the night and its darkness will return

And you will fall asleep like the flower I have bought

I want to cry over the six months I have lost

I could have filled your bay with the tears I shed

I could have covered your mountains with a gray hopelessness

And melted your glacier with an unbelievably hateful fever

I say my farewell to the fire and ice of this isle

My heart henceforth filled with a feverish longing

Isolated I drink summer beer

Curiously freed but not happy

I hear the thick and slow accent

Among the generous smiles of the children

And you know you’re back

Among the factories the traffic circulates

Where you eat bland and greasy food

Here I am drinking a beer of unhappiness

The old man nearby with a deep and comic voice

Is speaking to Italians about his nostalgic life

The city of Newark is not familiar with the night

You could very easily die of ennui here

The waitress doesn’t give a damn at all

About the customers who haunt her

I want to return to the sun, to the beach, to happiness

Thank heavens I only have an hour left…

The hunched-over old black woman cackles mightily

A crazy laugh that controls her whole being

The sewer grates burst with cigarette butts thrown away

By a crowd who cares nothing for your naïveté

I stroll among the muscle boys, who, half dressed,

Talk loudly around me about looking for some ass

The city of West Hollywood clutches the night

The car alarms sing a discordant melody

The looks of the men in the bars are not right

Their heads full of ideas and not one is good

The boulevard of dreams has become a trail of tears

As long as you are away, this city has lost its charms

That Sunday night long ago, do you remember it?

The long walk, the words, the pretty view

My word, that evening seems so long ago to me

And I wanted so badly to hold your hand

I smoke and dream of you, my head heavy with alcohol

I do not want any more of these frivolous people

I want to get out of here, throw myself into life

But this memory of you keeps me from ever escaping