Stoning and orgy both fly over flat pebbles:
It is a perfect love
...To lick among the domes.
Vines pour over the windows.
A fig tree sings its contempt through the visible flower.
Are we going to scorn the milk and honey
Of the insignificant days?
The arbitrator, the rapt, the dementia!
The grasshopper disguised
As a raven among the cypress trees!
Were those legs carved by the gold of Siria?
What does reveal the minimum munificence
The squadrons and tigresses
Lurking behind the walls,
Hardened like bricks
To the point of explosion
Coming back to me now... prod of my insomnia?
I descended to the gardens,
Those sites where your mother, the maddened,
Was shattered in pieces
Like a corroded pillar
By the hammer of an idiot.
(Four infinitives I see
Swirling in the sphere
Vestigial of the antiphrasis
The set of precious stones weeps also in its sheep-cot.)
If you could only see the chink,
Which mouth could not intoxicate you?

 

MANUEL LOZANO

Rome, 2007