Monday, September 2, 2013

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


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


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


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