Joe Bussiere

Two Poems

Chris Marker

Animals without time, and no sun out. I was thinking
of only her breasts in cacophonous traffic banality
in Tokyo at dawn
or somewhere.
The young girls choose happiness.

            Weird stuff happens.
            This is not a prayer
            for her.

            Lots of machines go fast.
The brain finds patterns all the time. Put

                         sugar on my tongue.
            Where everything’s reflected
            and all the time
     this has happened, gawking at super
            sacred shiny stuff. It
                         bothered us even)
               without the sun in the pond.

Bitter catullus poem

That this could continue for more than a long generation
I’m sure.
Gossip of the old too excessive, let’s live,
all worth a penny! Suns can set
and return: many funny things were happening,

truly the sun shone bright for you.
Goodbye girl, does not miss you,
     will not ask against your will.
But you’ll grieve, when nobody asks.
     Ah, poor wretch, “Woe to you, what life
remains for you? Whose lips will you bite?” But you
be resolved to stand fast. You must stop
being silly, not good words

flourish simultaneously in an embrace…
you hold three hundred…
truly loving none, but again and again all
their groins;

what do you want? would you be known no matter how?
you shall, since
wanted to love, with a long punishment. I hate
and I love, and I don’t know why. At least
her. That man seems to be equal to a god to me.

Leisure, my ears ring, my tongue becomes useless.
He watches and listens to you. My eyes, night.
You washed your
lips with many splashings
of water. You hold over my unfortunate honey.
My tears diminish a bit, I remember a little bitterly.

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