Summer Solstice
3
And yet in this kind of sleep
the dream so easily turns
into a nightmare.
Like the fish that shone under the waves
and buried itself in the mud of the seafloor
or the chameleon when it changes color.
In the city that turned into a brothel
pimps and harlots
sell rotten charms;
the kore who came from the sea
wears the cow’s hide
to be mounted by the young bull;
the poet
ruffians throw dirt on him
as he sees the statues dripping blood.
You have to escape this sleep;
this whipped skin.
Manolis Aligizakis 