And World’s Memory Moves, Part Three

Brooks that follow the trail
of the barren sky mix you
with the ants, with the defector’s step.

The man suffocates carrying in his
bosom the bread that had heart
and light within her ‒ but he was
melting away on the run when he
was pierced by Time and like
a serpent swallowing another serpent
he substitutes himself for him ‒ you,
my thought, blossom forth and don’t
melt away just as the dark plantation does.

And the grass was naked
we’ll no longer grieve the earth
we’ll watch our improved death.

Your breathing flutters like a pyjama
in the breeze, you had a body as soft
and light as a cat’s I gave the seabed
a searching look but the underwater
volcano was no longer visible,
the tranquil surface of the water
reflected the azure ‒, the deserts invade us
they are too small for a somersault.

Bleeding caresses
on the silk of the seas
far from the present killers
you slide into big eyes.

In the darkness’s hours with light step
I sense that idiocy is horror that can’t
think about herself, viscous nothingness
when the separation from yourself
loses some of her strength and you have
no distance from your own horror
and the scared humiliations romp around
and the hurts come noiselessly on stairs
or they go up in the elevator in the late
hours and the traps lying in ambush
creep in and wait for you to fall asleep
extinguishing some words I see I lost
trust even in breathing in all these
constructions of stone, in systems,
in ideas, in numbers I give up my
seat and I no longer appear in this
leaning tower and in silence do I expect
the event. A blizzard will come on the skin.

Swamps without borders
I run after the misfortune of the people
who still attack my heart and my consciousness ‒
they swallow me.

No sky could pierce your panzer wineskin
wherein you collect tears with your well
groomed face as evening sacrifice for love
because the evening comes through
the weeping wherein you tremble and hide,
you dauntless goddess licking the red sword
of lapidary dreams so that you can wage your
holy war guessing me beyond the ramparts
aiming at the threshold of your scintillating
body in the hours when the evil wind passes
and you shout at me from beyond the river,
“… you shall not!!!… you shall not!!!…
you shall not move!!!” Raising the passion
under the eyelids I should like to touch
your scintillating nakedness and I fire
bursts of machine gun fire at your spectre
in front of the entrance wherein I’ll be
waiting for the verdict under the board
with pictures raised in your place ‒,
you recognize nothing of what was
tangible changing the composition
of the intangible air, the consistence
and the consciousness like a body
that recovers ceaselessly producing
the fraud according to the law of animal
stuffing. I chose the target uselessly:
my soul was long ago collected in your
panzer wineskin so that you should
be bleeding I fire all the guns
simultaneously neither all nor nothing
move, only your smile smoulders
among the flowers of the garden in disorder
they hardly remember you.

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