I
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.
II
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.
III
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 bloody instep. Someone play him and render a chord.
IV
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.
V
Super flumina
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 thresh o’er them— palace and regal mouth: (sky, palate) to go to the origin of the aorta and monitor the flow.
VI
Jawbone
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 nearby a bulge splayed out dead. A lion in the open jawbone guarded a hive. We drank every honey. We ate soft wheat 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 obscenely on the animal— the climate, the world.
VII
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 wounds pupils drops onto water—they were aulos and coral their sovereignty coating the capes. One 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.
VIII
Cloaked in the shadow. Rains; hard. Water falls. An umbrage impedes a sip. It rises. 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.
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