And World’s Memory Moves, Part Six

Photo: Omar Willey. CC-BY 4.0


Hold up my sea’s strength don’t scare her voice
in life’s breeze in men’s thought you ever rejoice
riderless in the skies, in the sweet realm of dolour
that you discovered unchanged at the astral hour:

Your feet still walk through sharp thorns of roses
lighter than tresses in the heart where he reposes
in a trickle of song as blood streaming down the mouth
that hallows the ardent treasure in prayers said aloud.

Again we kill the old creature in smell of sandalwood
on the ancient life raising another beatitude of words
and their song you lead to this sweet world of lovebirds

You should wake up around the thought in good mood
enormous eye in the nest of gold with large wings aflame
bits of stars to the words breaking my thoughts I acclaim.

They’re blind at the source of blood,
under the walls of the craving’s old
fortress caressing the icicles that are
dripping on the sunny eyes, on the face
coated with passion.

The past’s future has eyes of a Greek
just as “foxes have holes, and birds
of the air have nests; but the Son of
Man has nowhere to lay his head”
likewise when God made all those
that exist He deprived them of bed
of homogeneous tinsel He made us
eyes of sphinx sharp claws in the soul,
sharp eyes of lynx. At birth each time
we should build exterior ramparts:
the barbarians and the nomads always
prowl around us they all as many as
they have been like this and as many
as they will still be coming if they
haven’t yet come totalling up
the other ones who are expected
as a sum of non-Egos. You have
no choice but to be limitless as
the Universe in every cell yodelling
in the spaces foreseen by the eyes
of the first Greeks.

The cyanide entered into the ground,
into the warm bed the dead fishes
shine with their belly in the sun:
today we hear, we see His voice
as on the day of the spillage in full
bloom of paradise; only the colour
of your skin glimpsed between
the reddish foliage and the edge
of the water white linen dresses
the heart in a fresh sphere.

So that we should endure and again
we should endure the tyranny of
the flesh, the world in possession
in fear aflame are the pages of the books
without letters within the unseen
penumbra, within the slow penumbra
that flows down the gentle slope,
disinherited earth: everything
collapses ‒ that’s already all! ‒
it would be good for us to get back
the centre for the remote martyrdom
towards the legacy that sets the stars
in motion deeply sealing us liberating
chains burning with blood: the diverse
Crystal remembers everything and
the coveted goods and the attachments
that throw us from wall to wall.

Pages of books with worn letters
like a limitless city, the man forsaking
his soul among luminous shapes
on the gentle slope where he would
pluck your eyes out so that you should
enter the blue of the petals so that you
should read generations of flowers
so that she should be finished the invasion
of things that conquer your soul
ceaselessly advancing on the mysterious
centre where only echoes and steps from
other subtler worlds penetrate so that
you should be taken aback so that he
should only laugh, he should only shed
blood at the acme of a day that doesn’t know
“yesterday” nor “tomorrow” the horrible
waking hours.

There are so many rumours around us
and so many things bind us hand and
foot, so many eyes that absorb us like
a vortex and as soon as life’s shouts
fade away a little after noon the sounds
of the day’s music penetrate like water
below the floors ‒ the sonorous universe
swallows the voice that creates silence
all alone with himself he creates silence
in the consciousness, within ourselves
and he melts the coagulated stones
in the heart and he makes you sing,
“Wake up, love and come, love!
Come to me: the leaf is luminous
in the woods, penetrate me, you
Resplendent Woman because soon
the mouth will shut and the rumours
will destroy her with stones…”
Come and weave the time like
the silk in the world that pours
forth poisons and enshrouds
herself as in a cocoon that resembles
the dream and the oblivion with
the sweet blown sounds of trumpet.

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