what a weird poem this is when the ram

why not in green snow

why not in a lily of asphalt life

rolling over like a pomegranate in the gutter

garbage dumps and nights

with cracked shingles

through which strange fingers

squeeze themselves into my chest

someone says he’s protecting me

and tightly wraps my heart in a burlap bag

what a weird poem this is when the ram

bleats when the man at the corner

urinates on the laurels

give me a smoke

the carriage driver breaks his whip

the coffee in the china cup has the face of a blasé

black woman

and how high - you ask me -

will you pull the zipper

in the labyrinth

i could come back nothing postpones me

there’s a fence around me and a cricket in the middle

cogwheels grind sometimes

i’d like to tell you that a winning lottery ball dropped

into the labyrinth

maybe that’s life

and yet sometimes a tree

looks like an outstretched hand

waiting for something more human

and it’s yesterday again everything is yesterday

as if i’ve died in advance

in a chalk pit

if earth and flesh

are meant to hurt

and like a wound the soil opens

when you bury the carcass of a dog

whose nerve will stretch with a harp-like sound?

it’s my bone the one

talking alone in its sleep

of strange convoys

it’s my foretelling nail

cutting off the edges of a world

along the veins of the earth

a lizard passes

and in a chalk pit

the song makes secret detours

selfishness and armour

i caress these lines of mine

smell them shake them

i can’t accept my powerlessness

to snatch them from the paper

the visual mutilation of their dance

demented, though possible

i can’t budge the inertia of the columns

their substance dried

by magical abstract fires

i can’t escape the trap of

these kaleidoscopes

- the schemes of an alien and cruel mind -

i can’t unfasten the selfishness

of too heavy an armour

i, the turtle

about the blue wart

not this state interests me

not this always hunger for love

and not the mercy for people or affection

for faces uglier than mine

i want to talk about the blue wart

about the evil star lurking at the woman’s temple

when nursing her baby she dreamed

of three white horses and

an overturned gas lamp

it’s sunny outside – stick a leaf onto your face! -

like a spider a hand gropes you

(the blind have a habit of searching for

secret stains under your skin)

what do you dream of when you lie at night

in the white of the sheets sucking while you are asleep

the sweet milk of death?

billiard balls

let me sleep

covered in this unmoving soul

outside

your hands shoot billiard balls

and muffled smacks hit

my temples

someone surely snuck

a clock under my skin

and all the fluxes of this body

are equally measured

an immense city continues

its workday inside me

and again outside

your hands 

shooting billiard balls

red and white blood cells

muffled smacks

in a lazy painful

rejection

let me

a day like a wall

how vapours billow out of marshes in the evening

what a sacred thermometer in a teenager’s armpit

gently waving its milky way

- a mercury worm and slow steps -

how memories don’t go back there

on chimera’s palms writhing the desire

at forty with frog eyes

you unlatch doors and rip your white glove

a day cold like a wall

a temptation that makes you a coward

the leaden fear in front of the golden desert

and then you light a match

under the summer sun

and wait for it to burn your finger