Lay, Bald Con

My red days souvenirs – mattress days, mattresses!
Oh to I, to us, me’s pleasures! Oh, to I, to us me’s detours!
Do they repulse her as the beauty dares caresses.
Lad or seer, deaf or you’re it? Lay charm, desires,
Murder’s souvenirs – mattress days, mattresses!

The swears illuminate our ardor. Dutch, are bone-
less sewers. Oh bald con, violate the vapors’ roses
quitting. Sign me tainted ooze, quit – encore meet table.
News? Have on, see, dissolve, vent dim imperishable choices.
Lessons illume desperate ardor due charred bone.

Cue lace or lay, sons’ bones danceless, show this, swear away.
Cruel is space, its profound cruel coat is poison
in me pen. Chant verse to eye, rain these sad stories,
the crying is respired. Lap our fumes the tongue sang.
Clueless soul, ill sons’ bows, danceless shower soirées.

Land you its epees – said and seen you – one closed song.
Amy you dance, the no ear divining desperate hells
at the blue jays stun soufflé. Oh décor! Oh poison!
It tastes, be its adornment. Dismay man’s fat to nails.
I knew its passion, said it, and seek you – our clothes on.

Just sailor art devotees, lays, men, weeps, her roses.
(A rave is most passé – bloody dance craze, you know.)
Carry key, bone sashay, ten beauties’ languor, roses
all theirs. When touched her core, a queen touched course. See. Do.
They say the heart evokes less. Men weep her roses,

say sermons, say perfumes, say base air’s symphony –
Renaissance trills done giddy. Enter this a new Sunday.
Come mountain icicle lay soul, lay ray. June is
April’s center, the way of found days, mares. Profound days!
Oh sermons, oh perfumes, – obey sires infinite!

homophonic translation of Charles Baudelaire’s “Le balcon”

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