A MOON OF PAPER

 

***

A moon of paper

floodlighting the immense earth

black as a slave, putrid as an imperial

communist, soft as a Moldovan

the earth rotted away for millions

of years bearing fruit going rotten,

repudiating the man ‒ he doesn’t

give a countenance to the one who

doesn’t possess it, you are ashamed

that you have one so blind, so deaf

as long as he exists, as long as he rots

away covered by the moon of paper

with all that God gave you

under the numberless phenomena. 

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THE TOLERATED AND UGLY WOMEN

 

***

The tolerated and ugly women

they all claim the viper and the dog

have the same spine and the same

smell; and the viper’s skin arouses

the dog and this is a serious thing

full of substance ‒ nonetheless

these women don’t know where

to seek help in no breath, no dream,

no enigma ‒ they follow the road

of the dog and will come across the viper ‒

however they are laid in joy.   

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GENGHIS KHAN (THE SON OF GOD)

 

***

Genghis Khan (in Mongolian the name

means the son of God) in his old age was

contemplating the mountain of wealth

that he gathered from the half of the globe

and he went into peals of laughter

he put earrings with diamonds and pearls

on the ears of the camels, he put necklaces

with diamonds and gold bells around the neck

of the horses they were marching before his

very eyes nonetheless he glimpsed no drop

of pride in the eyes of these animals adorned

with gold. Why would people be gathering

them chiefly the Muslims in their Jihad?

What’s in the mind of the man when he

tires himself to gather them? What’s a man?

Who cares about the humans? What’s the use

of a man? What should you do with him?

He brings no profit. Only the dead are good.

And he spared no one. The death caught him

on the road to South China. And he told it

to the urhans of the horde, “Don’t spare anyone.  

Make a pasture of all the earth.”  

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THE TRUTH IS THAT I FAILED

 

***

The truth is that I failed

along with the childhood

along with the youth

the moans and the sobs

surprise me by nightfall

with the errors I can come

back through secret pipelines ‒

I can wake up to the sound

of your voice, Love to your

cruel insect's sound, the sleep

carries the moon deeper.

And what’s the matter with this

failure? There’s still light

beyond the death. The laughter

resounds under the water.

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THX 

THE WORDS MACHINE

 

***

The words machine

swallows the silent desert

in a kingdom of the truth.  

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YOU SUFFER BECAUSE OF ME

 ***

With immense despondency you suffer

because of me, the evening wherein

I left you was pulchritudinous as your

mouth, on the eyelids equally gentle

just as life passes, just as death comes

thus in silence.   

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WORDS

 

***

Words shining with a nothing

drawn by my death just like

these mountains that should be

Greek, hard, dry, mythical, pale,

light, aerial, spectral.

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