Two very personal notes … and comment
Hanging off the edge of idiocy
give a glass head.
Do I have to:
cast my body from bronze,
or create my self from an iron frame ,
and spread concrete on it?
When my head gets crushed on the bottom ,
My copper tack articulations will break apart .
Will old red blood flow from my Plastic arteries ?
Or the remnants of coffee, ink and gouache colors?
Will a good man collect my body parts?
and pray a prayer ?
Or will I be thrown in a scrap store ,
and my fingertips will find a way to the trash auction?
Those sweet fingers that accompanied me in all the
follies , and joined with me in the Rape of the secrets of the paintings .
Female fingers will not give it … a new life ,and It will not return magic to its fringes .
Those fresh fingers that deform with burns and topical
It will slowly sink into a sticky bottom,
It will rake my mouth frantically
Looking for an old poem …
Or even a rusty word of love
Yesterday the refrigerator broke down
I found my dreams sour, and my brain struck by corruption , When the ice
around my body parts melted.
In the drawer my nightmares paled when it missed
the intimate cold .
What do I cook for my guest tonight?
My heart is mortgaged In the possession of the weaver
as a guarantee for the price of an eye’s bandage .
And Masculinity ,
To which of my lovers should I lend it to
then i forgot?
If I look well in my kitchen
the rats left Something
from the body of the old revolutionary inside me.
If I found his skull ,
Where I stuffed his mouth with a red carnation –
Maybe I could make a soup for death …
When death comes tonight.
This person who has chickenpox with sadness ,
a stranger to all cities , who pursuer in the dark alleys of memory , Hidden in the wet corners , Suspended above falling walls .
Amid the spiders of fear , And the dust of oblivion .
Who is outside of justice …
Wanted because of accusation of insulting light ,
That slips on the looks of others .
And every warm bosom give him a nail for his coffin .
That deformed with four holes and accidental wounds
That i don’t know where to hide him,
That i refuse to hide him ,
and I hang it
Naked from life … as carcass meat (I turn it upside down, hang it over him, stripped naked, as if he/it were dead meat, a skinned and slaughtered animal, a rotting carcass)
Falling from him ,
Sweat, fear, his begging
The familiar beloved … like texture of my skin
That prisoner , forever
Behind the polished surface
As if a ghost …. my palm (fails to touch it) never touches it when I see it
That bleeding wound in eternity
It is ….. my face