LAZINESS
I do not care to work today
for laziness has defeated me again
and I sit upon my mattress
and feel my body’s heaviness
as if the whole wide earth
cannot contain me
nor ever can the sky.
I perceive the good as evil
and glance down once
and then towards the sky.
Despite this stupid world I live in,
I wish I could just once
live fully and never die.

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Suspicion
Therefore, you have to get used to it, he was saying,
to always find new excuses
not to deny anything. Your denial
would be, first of all, denial of yourself,
and they’re very careful with your mistakes.
They even suspect your approval
and your enthusiasm or your serenity.
Then, what could we do? He asked, ah, yes,
to occupy the least possible space. Then, again,
they see our moderation as secrecy,
they find some conspiracy in the afternoon reverie,
when you smile to a star that believes in you
when you stand firm behind a certain memory or
this chair, where love was sitting moments ago,
and you caress the back of the chair. What could
we do, he said, and hid his whole face behind
the newspaper.

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Labyrinth
The air smelled of spring
in the flowery thicket
I sauntered
and your image came to my mind
undulating soft bed-sheet
followed the curves of your body
when suddenly the wind perked up
and the sheet was lifted up
revealing Eros spread on your skin
and between your legs
where the summer heat
doubled the heat of your body
turning it into conflagration
image that took my mind captive
into the labyrinth of lust
where I enter firm
and always come out pale

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The king passed and asked them
“why you cry, you two slaves?”
“For our precious son, the
sun of every dawn
we cry for our precious son
who sold us for some coins
who exchanged us for gold
which you gave him oh king
and he hasn’t come since then
our only joy and resolve”
and the king orders
“bring the boy in front of me”
“You’re the destruction’s son
and the ruin of your parents
and you’re riding a horse
and you’re dressed in all fanfare
tears you spread all over
tears you never had,” “yes”
he answers and the king
writes an edict “noble son
take this edict and go away
become a lightning bolt and
for ten days and ten nights
don’t you ever dare stop

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Like a Film
My homeland is the flowing
moment that always was
and touched the farewell
the passing of the flowing river
and left fantastic years
roles that are passed over
under constellations
kites of our origin
innocence that travels in darkness.
I was a path once
a piece of infinity
divided heart, a secret departure
I smuggled away utopia
searching for the forefather of a dream
so, I could return
the wild wind gleaming and flowing spring
insubordinate poem deep footprint
and as everything ages
I shall move ahead
irreversibly
into the mined wave.

Snow
He was the only one I had, although I couldn’t recognize him.
He went away and came back. “Someday you’ll also return.”
He said, “But no one will be here,” then he talked to me of his
mother’s green dress, and he emphasized the word green as if
he defended the whole world; other times, he kneeled and asked
for the forgiveness of the centuries of grief and the women who later
descended to do the laundry were forgotten in a great shine and
as it started snowing, I opened the Gospel
but it was snowing in it as well.

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Diner Cook
Eons behind the counter, the years
he has spent in this diner, side of
the highway where truckers stop
to rest, to eat something fast, to
relieve themselves and to resume
their fast-trucking way towards
their destination to earn their
living just like the diner cook who
stands behind the counter and cooks
hamburgers, a matter of two minutes
each side, which along with a handful
of fried potatoes make up the regular
meal, straight French cuisine, one
might muse, food meant to be digested
as the driver sits in his seat focusing
on the next bend of the road, the faraway
depot where he’ll get paid, he too
has done as others did before him
he too has lived the donkey’s life
just as others did before him

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THE DEAD HOUSE

We didn’t mention it to the adults because as soon as
the kitchen window opened the cloud of smoke rose
sideways and stayed over the hallway, high cloud,
threatening, with a glass helmet with a hanging horse
tail; a lone, aromatic cloud, beastly and fleshless,
with no bones yet powerful. Thus, we were listening
behind the doors up to midnight until a red, sparkling
sleep took over us). Yes, the soldiers were singing,
joking with the servant girls, sometimes they took off
their boots and rubbed their thick toes with their hands,
then they’d wipe the wine off their fleshy lips
or they scratched between their hairy legs
they’d grab the breasts of women accidentally
and they sand again (we opened to them even in
sleep), they sang with their faces covered in the
dirty hair, maintaining the rhythm with their barefoot
legs on the tiles or with their fingers on the water
pitcher or the glass or the flat wood they used
to mince meat on the table, in a low tone so
they wouldn’t be heard by the officers inside; then
their Adam’s apple went up and down like a knot
of a thick rope pulled by two opponents, like the knot
of a rope pulled from a deep water well, like a knot
in your viscera.

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