I DON'T WALK IN THE PARK

.


I went to the park because they said,
When a man feels lonely that can't be bad.
So I went and I walked and I thought,
If this park thing is really true or not.

«Not!», I cried.
And this, my dear, is why,
I never walk in the park.

FRENCH GIRLS

.

Here's a poem, I must say,
Written in the old surrealistic way.

About french girls, so lovely they are,
From the Louvre Museum you can drive my car.

Drive it slowly, drive little girl,
'Cause Paris is in my veins and Hilton is my world.

We have time, please don't rush,
Let's eat an hamburger and say bad things about Bush.

Shake it baby, move those feet,
This night's a jazz poem by LC Beat.

And I love France, And I love France,
Damn, baby, just give me one more chance.

FINGERS

.


Black ones
on the Gibson guitar for blues.
Wet ones
in the girl’s next door at two a.m.
Tired ones
from writing hundred bad poems.
Hided in gloves
after a boxing match with mouth bleeding.
Two apart
sign of victory of capitalism over and over again.
Silk ones
in my lover’s precious hand.
Old ones
asking for peace and comfort.
Crossed ones
for good karma and dharma’s wisdom.
Angry ones
Pulling the trigger of a gun.

Just one,
pointing at you and your absolute waste of life today.

VOODOO GIRL

.


I knew a girl, she worked late at night,
Everything was going fine,
Everything just so right,
I knew a girl, she worked late at night.

I knew a girl, she never looked back,
Everything was going fine,
Everything just so right,
I knew a girl, she worked late at night.

One day she left: - Voodoo girl, oh come back!,
Without you I can’t make it,
Everything was so right,
I knew a girl, I knew a girl.

She worked late at night.

ANYTIME

.


If you want me, come
And we’ll settle our house over the moon, under
The stars and away from everything, come
Anytime.

I’ll have my books in a shelter of ice, we
Will play with our kids till late at night, under
The stars and away from everything, come
Anytime.

Sun knows that’s what I want, come
I’ll be dying if you don’t, come
Under the stars and away from everything, come
Anytime.

532-B

.


I remember those hotel stairs
where the cat died of pleasure
and your legs failed next to the wall
three times

I remember that electric light
the tub, your lips
the bed and the sheets
three times

I remember your skin
and the Dali's painting
in that 532-B of a village Hotel
where passion was written
three times

And don't tell me art is dead
Because your hair still enchants me
In the Summer nights.

Femme

«Une Femme», by M