Sinks in a little deeper
each day slowly dipping
from hanging rings.
The more I train this muscle
the less it hurts to shoulder
a perfect split.
Merciless hour glass ran out of fucks
fresh out of time knocked the wind off my lungs
flawed execution by classical measure
o h , b u t t h e b o n e s !
count themselves and their blessings.
Took a bunch of pills woke up soaking wet
a perfect saturated circle under me
so perfect this shadow, how?
bedspread darkened with sweat
the fabric which clothed me, dry as wry
don’t even know what I meant
don’t even think that it meant anything
«God is the sweat running down his back,
the water soaked her blonde hair black»
I think about that,
Elise.
Perhaps I sweated out all color
or slashed the walls of the world with all my clawing
and color slowly drained out
unremembered
Yes, I’ve sweated out all color feasibly in passion
but this embarrassing hue
striking against the grey.
Twenty five years a teen
so much you ask of me
«would that I could»
age out of wanting you
like I did at thirteen
foreseeable routine
to covet those who’ve misaligned themselves to me
stripping me only for parts they need
that I happily part with
as if I had no value no value
no value at all.
Train’s a-coming, you know
if we won’t meet, I should board
but you stay on your side
I let thunder roll by
we stare each other down
we each mouth something but it hits the ground.
Quiebra en mi pecho la ampolleta
que entraña la vileza de anhelar
empantana mis tripas
descalcifica mis huesos
desbasta mi piel desde adentro
y desviste el recorrido de mi sangre
urgente
humana
buscando
refugios que ya no existen
dos tajos para trasegar
a un recipiente libre de afectos.
Téjeme a ti
con cada pelo de tu cuerpo
Enrama tus costillas
en las mías
perfora nuevamente
mis viejas cicatrices
que de nada sirven
si ya no recuerdan
Haz de mi algo monstruoso
que sepa y huela a ti
que brota y vuelve a ti.
Creo que puedo.
Creo que puedo.
De crear,
de creer.
Échate, una última vez
y derrama mi fortuna.
Procuro no guardarla
en la punta de la lengua
en la yema de los dedos
“esto también pasará”.
Échate como la suerte,
boca arriba.
Mírame.
Mírame bien.
No tengo miedo.
Es solo otra pequeña muerte
de las muchas que hay.
Todos los días piso las hojas que no he barrido
si hemos llorado el cielo y yo
las más ennegrecidas resbalan amargas
empapadas de recuerdo deshechas
bajo mis pies
la fruta picada
por aves podrida
no recogeré
ni mañana ni ayer
no he barrido las hojas ni lo haré
la cara muerta de estar vivo
se lava sola de lluvia
y seguimos de pie
este cielo sufre mucho y llora poco
un minuto de silencio
será más largo aquí.
No existe envidia en la naturaleza
si es preciso
es injusta
y vuelve a empezar
ensaya sin luto un nuevo sol
que solo hará sombra de algunos
quizá por última vez.
Envidia siento
fuera del orden natural.
The very first time we met he took me by the hand in the dark
The world poured back and forth between our eyes, too
poorly-lighted, once or twice
Led me through dim rooms
corridors patio now back
rooms left-to-right office to bed-
room gingerly holding my fingers
pulling my hand to where light was
Still love that moment the softest
the opposite of blindness, a gesture
a kindred I instinctively knew
through the tips of my fingers alone
Time changes most but not all
things. I know through it all this keeps true
Even if we fall out
Even in the end
Even as we pack
For I know blindness of all things
and this was razor-sharp.
A mimicked gesture
is the purview of children
however inaccurate
intent is celebrated
I too hurled my whole heart at
wrong pantomime
to great reviews
I search for the memory
of this warm un•failing
never to be felt again.
Malas traducciones 