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POEM, FOR CESAR VALLEJO
so that, together, we may make of this a world
I want to build you up with material certainty
so you can feel by degrees what you are made of.
I want to tear you down, make you hopeless.
The extremities are cold, but the viscera warm.
Sight fails me, I am navigating by temperatures.
I am able to look, light may define some discernable shape. If
mountains, trees and airplanes through these organs. If
Through these hands passes the commerce of the cities,
we are already dead, we've never been, we are ready to live.
We are living, we are alive, we are so much with life,
In short I don't give a flaming fuck about you.
I hate you, despise and revile your humors and bad habits.
I love you ever so tenderly, comrade, brother, in your essence,
My heart beats for you passionately, you keep me going,
and what will become of us no one is telling.
are also everything we never were and never will be,
we are everything we ever were and ever will be, we
Why are you resurrecting her only to kill her again? If
you have a mother, and so what if she is dead?
stinking up the whole room. I attest to the fact that
peeled off layer by layer, stinging the fingers,
of alcoholic stupor. Life is an onion, yellow as piss,
made of sponge, ready to be lit inside a lake
refracts a different angle, until I realize I am
That is the reason I am so happy. Because every tear
of pure dance called work and unfathomable sadness.
with your percussion and auscultation on my knees
through the auditory canals as you go tap tapping
therefore, understand by pressures of blood pulsing
frequencies, of which I catch no meaning. I must,
I do not know you at all. Your voice vibrates
Since I've known you every day of my life, I know
that I suppose we have already met in the bathroom mirror.
and farting furiously. So much the same are we
are just alike, as I see you, bulbous, bland, stocky
my undivided loyalties. So what then? You and I, we
I will pick you up, tell you stories, offer you
To me you are a child who only desires to play.
I want to meet you. Tell me your name. Talk to you.
objects on concrete floors? Certainly you annoy me.
From this vantage how should I view you knocking on my walls, dropping solid
digesting intestines, candles for corpses, defenseless, priceless.
discovering that the fabric of my flesh is rent even,
Man, in you I climb the depths of my solitude
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