I SMOKE CIGARETTES “PARLIAMENT”

 

And I enter the bastion of the members

of parliament built and planned according

to the dimensions of the temple from Jerusalem

from the Bible a vast hall like a huge cave.

Here the beings move simultaneously covering

the thousand-year-old distance from the crocodile

to the gorilla and every view goes into a decline

every sound falls silent for a split second as behind

a big screen you get airplane ear, your ears are

ringing ‒ the male and female individuals

that come one after another must and bear

a despicable thing just as they bear a disability

at peak time they all become crocodiles and they

woo each other hitting each other with the tail

from behind under the knee and they laugh

thievishly. “Let’s take revenge on them, you stupid!”

the speaker speaks with an uvular R, “let’s rejoice,

the money is ours, the food, the soft flesh are ours.

All those violent whom we didn’t disfigure let them

rot in jail! There is the same amount of reproofs

that I administer to myself and that poison

my existence. And yet we must make them

thousands and thousands of hard laws we must

impose thousands and thousands of taxes on them

we must break the napes of their bulls’ necks!...”

And he puffs away at his cigar, as tall as a rain maker.

“What profundity and what brilliance!” she licks him

with her tongue a whore who says that in the evening

she went to bed healthy and in the morning

she woke up dead. “You are some humorists,

circus performers!” howls a smaller, swarthier  

crocodile and then they begin to babble all at once

and those 600 monsters in hubbub full of unhappiness

they increase the pain in the air, they increase the pain

in the world ‒ they are all the same colour grey

without shades ‒ she increases by seven seconds

per second with every step of ant and the nature

of the pain is a triple, cubic nature and the condition

of a martyr, you carnivorous, voracious, insatiable

crocodile is an infernal pain and the function

of reptile is doubly painful and the wealth grabbed

hurts us three times, annihilates us ‒ never have these

vipers dreamed of human humans, they always put

suffering in their wallet, in their glass, in their food

in their butcher’s shop, in the electronic tablet

of their children, and they appear and weep like

some poor mommies, never with so much painful

gentleness in the voice never with such a proximate

assault of the hunger on the throat, never have they

played the part of a macaque getting out of the skin

of crocodile ‒ and thus nor was death more lethal

than death even the furniture, the kitchen cupboards,

in their drawer they didn’t find so much ground pain

so much hunger and the crocodiles from the parliament

start the game again this time morphed by the pain

into chameleons. And what eyes they have! And they

still see the crucified bread, the bloody flesh

and the chameleons are sad as far as the crop.