Biography of jean maudit
Scribbles from some place or other...
jean maudit Poems
It's as though windmills had spun a bris marine to billow autumn like a galleon over the waves of the park,
There should be a grand piano. Somewhere in the room my hands drown in the dark. I'm out of tune. Someone
I don‘t want to mention the sea in this poem, it might come between us. I'd swim it anyway to reach your breasts again.
I ask do not enquire further than the waves breaking. I've stopped the boat to wait under lamplights before.
Even the solitary drinker in me doesn't want to know. I've spilt myself too many times, knocking over the holy wine.
“The balcony never lets me down. London floods in light below and stars flock onto my hands. Born on the banks of the old docks,
Even the solitary drinker in me
doesn't want to know.
I've spilt myself too many times,
knocking over the holy wine.
Well, I guess I've got to pick myself up,
get out of the gutter,
dust down my battered hat.