Flaunting in my palm all the world I fared,
I plundered and when embarking I gave off a foreign air the
ones who waited yelled expelling a wind that
uprooted every aura and put in its place overt
élan—it blows thus on those who plunder.
The wind was my accomplice, and guise; it bolsters
what recoils on the road, and goes: the brought unguent sound
in which the wind executes what moves
before your eyes. I die on you, believer. It screams
and you ring amidst the copses. What to say?
I approach the desolate image and there avenge
the deserted lapse I walked in. Brim
of the rocks, that corrects the land
and governs my vicissitudes.
It swooned like a virus in glass:
and fell from the lip of the cup
and if its earshot hit the bottom
probing was the brusque look that pulsed
following the course to know the going. From
here on, at the bottom of
the receptacle, transpires all the following:
the glass abysses—its edges cede;
over the water a palace climbs,
the blue of its gables receives the evenings,
an alcove upstairs is a bridal bed,
beside it—a room where fish swim in sugar.
Suddenly rain, and the blue melts.
Maybe blonde—now the water
unswells, the palace dissipates,
the edges concenter in the abyss.
One sees a disk with a limp hair at rest.
I’ve marred him. I deduced the discord
in the way his fingers took
my shock. He made those very phalanges keys.
And at dark—they crawl, and take the cane and
all it feels: it renders pasture, grass.
Touching everything. Everything imbibed
by the fresh aspect—
and there he flung headlong.
Then swam crawlingly
to search out holes.
Staked there at last,
fingers in the earth, the
sun at his back, that
Someone play him and render a chord.
In its second peal the sound
entered through the ear and beat against the foot
in the throat.
At that incitement, a man joined various screams he supposed were coming
from within the bell. And when he peeked up
to see its depths, its heights diluted
his voice. The incitement hung, tongue pending,
in the arc. It tolled again. A same voice
fixed itself heard. To eradicate this scream
he beat it from outside; with a mallet, then his hand,
then his elbow. He heard only memory
coming with headpieces, hats, helmets—these
very turbant recesses
and in his arms strumming a sitar.
they wandered entrusting to give to time
five different courses that on the shore
no one hides
but does hear.
Several levels of air sawed
super flumina and turned out
a ceiling like just another
of its coasts.
Aorist the moment—halted—
now reigns, insists. To
palace and regal mouth:
(sky, palate) to go
to the origin of the aorta and
monitor the flow.
We refuged what remained of the rattle
in a pit near three
flowers. Two leagues down the road.
Keeping path, to the mound there,
the sepals veer.
En route—each of us struck his
rebec. One struck, there being,
an ocarina. A thirst
fell and we came to see
a bulge splayed out dead.
A lion in the open jawbone
guarded a hive. We drank
every honey. We ate
as if bread. “Lay
seeds on the path”. We dissimulated
the city. We all saw open
that beast’s belly and
thought we heard
that rapacious spirit lack
hunger. “Moslems will
read those”. And
Being one a voice was ungrateful
there being geese the lagoon brims full
periodic echoes that clack in the rocks
tearing up under the glare of the sun that
pupils drops onto water—they were aulos
and coral their sovereignty coating the
canoe rested in the sand
crackling. The wood—arid—
won’t sink; cracks. And at the brim
of the biggest slabs a
turbid splotch of insects
inked—before the provoked
lament of the eye was an instrument—
all the roads in the wood. Tenacity,
they note, of the insect in the lagoon.
Cloaked in the shadow. Rains; hard.
Water falls. An umbrage impedes a sip.
A wall. An umbrella shadow casts—
a place not with drops. Acerbic; plain.
Step on its reflection walking. Exasperate
the ground. The waters will impale
a body. A guzla. Liquid spilling out:
a long drop that cuts off its back—two
halves. It falls: unsaddles and precipitates
on. To antipodes; a
chunk of that fire now below.
It tires, now. Perdures. Puddles, puddles.
In one of them a goose licks up
with its foot a wire of water
on its overwing. Now it beats it.
The shadow of the flutter stays
in the water and on the cloak of the wing.