on losing

If you enter that place
you can close the door as you go
so the wailing winds behind it
won't slap my skin
and crowd it
with early wrinkles.

I'm not attracted whatsoever
to the snowy peaks
to the hazy mornings
to forgetting my name
when the ruthless night approaches
but if you keep crossing the line
I'll forget yours
at least when it is done bleeding my heart,
at least when it is done attacking the dreams of the poor living dead I'll become
if you go.





I've turned myself into a seer.
I see the darkness,
I smell the candles,
faraway.

Let it stay that way.

If you don't cross that filthy doorway,
look up, for there will be no roof.

If you choose that, I will stay.

Forever.

I will help you up.

© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT 2013, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Image: Egon Schiele

swindle

            Extracts I and III from "Swindle", by Victoria Bardot

                 I.

wash away the poisons,
for your lips are stained:
my fingertips got bluish
while blending all my meds

and I mourned for all those who thought
their pain had a meaning but didn't

                        III.

Maybe we prayed to the wrong gods
we prayed to Rimbaud and to his hash pipe
we prayed to Thompson and to his bullets
we prayed to Burroughs and to his needles
we prayed until our knees got sore and weary,
and the warm winds brought nothing but flu
and the heaven above would not open for us.



© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT 2013, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Image: from "The Basketball Diaries" (1995)

above the influence

I hear you reminiscing about
your sweaty lovers in the 80s
and how you were a skinny chain smoker,
a street girl with a lice tiara.
One of them used to
push your head down,
and you enjoyed it and thought
you were betraying mum and dad,
you were betraying that smiling old lady who gave you a crucifix
you were betraying the suffraggetes,
you were betraying your 8-year-old self.

·

Boys in their summer clothes.
Aw, you observe them.

You know this part by heart:
one of them will approach you,
and reach for your lips.
His breath will be smoky and hazy,
like a warm and damp jungle,
and his mouth carousel will get you dizzy, but still
you're betraying somebody, some day
that nice lil old lady who told you nice words and now's dead,
some day and some where
betraying the ribbons in your toddler hair,
but you keep kissing him.
You're dizzy.

©Text: VICTORIA BARDOT, 2013, all rights reserved.
©Picture: Paz de la Huerta