Marea que invade desde el puerto de los labios.
Primero sin prisa.
Después como el aire.
Se posa e invade.
Burbuja de cansancio.
El tiempo ralentiza y la felicidad es un vaso vacío.
Solo un chorrito.
Un shot pequeño de whisky.
Más, sería tarde de mala muerte.
¿Cierto, señor Epicuro?
Pio pio mamá y pollito,
un gusanito.
Rasca la tierra mirando atenta.
Ladea la cabeza.
Me mira,
¿Sabe que voy por ella?
Y por la mira de la cámara,
Intento capturarla.
I can’t just prink my thorns,
Wild flower I was born.
Never in silverware,
Memoirs of salty worth,
I can cover all I want to be.
Proper.
I’ll be chasing my best dreams.
You … You hate thistle and I am.
Dusted and even mud spattered.
Forget to try conjuring a rose out of my self.
Go gardening…
Somewhere else.
Nein nein nein.
A bump on the forehead.
Some leaves in my hair.
That branch should have fallen that way!
Not on my skull,
I’m already a fool.
Pruning…nein nein nein.
I don’t feel like doing it again.
Un par de ramas y luz moteada.
Con la raíz que no vi…
Un porrazo entre las manzanas.
A hundred words?
Not in toll.
A story?
Nibble, nibble the mice ate it away!
Then the dog devoured the rodent.
Everyone sighed relieved.
And the contest?
Remember?
Not a hundred words.
Stone, clay, wood, paper.
No expression,
No accent.
Through the eyes of the reader.
And their biases and substances.
Maybe not in malice.
Sometimes in all evil.
Clauses are,
Loose or tight,
To convenience and lenience;
Read by contract and do service.
What do we know of the reading?
Was it a language like English?
That can’t be read as written.
Was the time in it, volumetric?
Greek time goes in p³ (What’s p in there?).
Is it affected by 60 more unofficial places?
The words you use might be common sense…
Decided by whom?
Do you know the same things I do?
Do you leaven or perhaps,
Use the word rise?
What about warp and weft instead of thread?
Can you play words the same way you turn your socks?
Oh, Dickinson verses.
Not you, not I; only her knew what was in there.
Tough analyzers say they can see through them… Really?
Let’s say by convention that’s yes.
Words can lie so well.
True.
Only a single meaning?
Local, national or universal?
Personal?
True as in truth or true as in skilled?
Skilled in twisting the true?
Finally,
What’s not there can’t always be inferred.
Nuances are not so subtle at all,
Once focalized.
Just change the point of view of the tale and the stone turns lime.
Tsss.
Desperation.
Rest.
Tsss.
Desperation.
Rest.
Tsss tsss.
The glue won’t let you go away.
Six legs on it.
Tsss.
The struggles dies.
The buzzing quiets.
Traca traca traca,
Llegó el camión…
Sin la alfalfa.
Croquetas, bien.
Maíz quebrado, perlado.
Alimento de gallina, pepino.
¿Pacas?
¿Hasta cuándo la paca?
Llueve dónde hay alfalfa.
Empacarla es doblado y quién sabe pa cuando.
¿Comerán avena estas ovejas penas?
O ¿dirán fuchi y golpearan la puerta?
Porque las ovinas de banderas roji negras…
Y aquí la Stasi no pega.
Shhh. Haste in silence and listen.
We need a cigarette to appease them.
Or a flower and some recently ground chocolate.
They’re tiny but many.
They must need a house or a palace. Without them, the bridges crumble and kids get lost to beasts and jungle.
Befriend them Mayan spirits.