I don't even know how to say it:
my cow is the color of dung
like the bottom
of a fox den
stamped down wood meal
between two paddocks.
the color of snuffed flame!
and what white spots it has:
on its face, speckles of milk
which the girls splatter there
on its hips, the sparkling sky
painted by the rising sun.... more »
You wake longing to know what happened
You wake longing to know what happened to the garlands that your blood
opened during the night. You face the morning naked and depraved
like the white wall from which you tear what's left
of an old poster. The partitions of trust fall
and here, right in front of you, adverse like never before, the geography,
ever more tense.
You see the tongue of sand under a different light.
Memory vanished, crystallized in echoes.
The gestation of fear ruined the hours.
You practice the walk you used to know. You simply expose your skin,
without the outline of your old body
giving up a clue as to what's happening within. You reinvent the implantation
of your human form in the world, for now washed of secure reasons.
To be alive and to assail the clarity implies a vocation
for adapting the body to the imposition of the town square.
There's only one way to face the cold.
It's to bring it, the cold itself, inside you. The decision doesn't wound,
not more than the decisions of others.... more »