la merienda

should shoulder ,came a

head ,regañada ,en so

frito inmersa ,so the

folded water ,when

dry ,if dry ,and his

soaking ,refected ,shirt

was swilling the oily

comb  .the plate was

crusted ,en la sobre

mesa del aire ,y moscas

,sin recuerdo de la prad

era’s stream ninguno

,of liquid time ,and

dropped his chin into

an empty hand

 

tarde es

your shade controls ,ac

ross the sky ,the gassy

sun your neck drunk

from ,outer cold nor

,inner sweat the glass

against ,or ,arf re

membered ,dripping

past your random e

vents’ horizon ,the birds

toward dark ,and

the curtain forgets its flame

Cuando ceñido de inexorables

telas negras...

- José Lezama Lima

cleanup

boil ,when the sleeves if

,empty ,the closet’s hang

ers ,limp ,but dimly

clanking or the knee ,de

pantsed ,gleaming on the

floor ,your ,if opened

,scissors walking up the

bed ,with sawdust sa

gged ,filled ,with’s gluey

blood the forgotten

fork ,holds the sky ,un

der the mattress ,the

dreamless bones

naps

rested and sank ,the

windowed clouds re

gressing ,the glass ,an

instant ,not seen ,on

the humid couch ,a

wrinkled book its

sodden tongues ex

posed so the porous

floor absorbed the

unshoed feet ,rai

ning ,in the pictured

wall ,on the roads

and trees ,where

what is left ,to

drink in his sleep