Poems

Percevale

Those poems have originally been written in french. Translating poetry is a hard task and is here to inspire and try to represent the artist’s words and intentions. The french poems have subtleties that can only be understood in that language.

I.
prostitution is not
a contract
it’s not a husband
I don’t have a ring on it

I do it like this
with good sex
with good faith

before I pick up my cash
and tell them
”see ya”

give me some cash
so that I can buy in return
something to charm
all the men I like

I accept all gifts
even impersonal ones
everyone loves wine
and I
make poems out of it

I don’t like jewelry
but when I receive it
from you
I find myself looking elegant
and it excites me strangely

I fall in love
3 times a day
for less than thirty minutes
and I know nothing
about love

Painting by Percevale

II.
they laugh at my jokes
with a good heart
half nostalgic half happy
my cold-hearted charitable
old men
who will never tell their wives
and I
made the choice to enjoy it
I find it poetic
I even find it quite comic
and I
have decided
that I can take what
it generates
it’s like an
actress’s job
psychologist’s,
of a penis not too steady
on the money intakes
like a job that cuts you in two
with a baseball bat
that brings you bread on
the table
that you can do everywhere
on the map
when you’re
whore-able

 

III.
i just took off all of
my clothes
just my
earrings left
but I only wore one
today
I’m sleeping at the whorehouse tonight
tomorrow it’s time
I hope I don’t feel anything
(I just want to feel you)
I take a sniff on
my arm
it smells like your sweat
a little bit
we’re not too big on
showers when
we’re together
huh
here I wash up after
every guest
the rooms stink
of condoms
cheap perfume and spunk
I think of you who
earlier said to me
“I love you”
for the first time

life is damn beautiful.

 

 

IV.
the girls are whining about
no customers
putting on makeup in the meantime
they tell me to comb
my hair
that self-care is important

I just want to be proud like
a boat
that has no human
to get on board
all I care about is
to not sink
I don’t care which way
the current goes

V.
the motels will be
kingdoms
like the old back bench of the
car
the beds will be temples
and cigarettes
medicine
in our stinking mouths of
beings
who kiss each other without rest
who eat with their mouths open
and laughing
all the time