floating and leaving no trace
minute 500-077
inside animals
sorrow
fear
residue
new seeds are planted
——
I wrote a very short piece in English and translated it using Google Translate several times into multiple languages, eventually returning it in a somewhat fractured form (and edited). Interesting exercise. I have no clue how numbers got in there.
i have hated you
–the angel says–
from the moment
of your creation
so weak and powerless
can’t fly
can’t sing
you call that sound
you make singing
but it’s only noise
my gears are polished silver, gold,
my skin translucent pearl
i breathe fire
but can bring forth flowers
by kissing the earth
you are trapped in your meat
and your blood
giving birth in terror
and agony to terrors and
agonies
did you know
your screaming
is the only thing
approaching communication
with the divine
that’s the real song
he wants to hear
you were never meant
for paradise
you were built to suffer
because misery loves
company and
the stony ground
was always your final
destination
i stretch
you
until tau(gh)t
i pluck
you like a string
from you
the song of a
single pure note
rings
it is the ringing in my ear
love is tinnitus
there when you’re trying to fall asleep
when you wake up
(almost) maddening
both the roar of the ocean
and the dentist’s whining drill
a small thing affects
the senses
but still scrooge
learned the lessons
no swallowed toothpick
could ever teach him
he had to learn
from ghosts
what it meant
to be alive in his
own faltering flesh
the most pleasant sound
in the world is a typewriter
key striking a fresh piece of
paper and leaving a smudge free
ink-filled crater
behind
a close second the sound
of the bell when the right margin
has been attained
like a marathon runner
crossing
a finish line only to hear
the advance of the platen
zipper crunch slide to the left
finish line is just
another word for starting line
candles flicker for obvious reasons
birthdays, farewells, power outs,
supplication to saints
checking that canary you
carried down into the coal mine
homemade bikini waxing
sealing someone’s fate with a signet
pressed into a blood red blob
liberace
but mostly the presence of ghosts
my hammer will not ring
no anvil to fall on
no metal to forge
no sword to fashion
for any hero’s hand
the crucible does not
overflow with molten metal
no sparks
no ashes
so soot covered skin
or sweat covered brow
no bronze to cast
or chase
no shapes to shape
it is said
that when all you have is a hammer
everything looks like a nail
but sometimes
even the nails are absent
and the hammer
is a cold stillborn thing
in your hand
buzzing fig beetle
emerald morning jewel
stupid dive bomber
i apologize to you, ladies
my tongue may as well
been chewed to pieces
or my larynx smashed
for all the good
five decades of conversational
experience did any of us
you asked for help
you had an address
i had gps
and even though i showed you the map
and asked you to follow me
you sought the advice
of another
and did not accompany
to your destination
[albeit a shady one
a temporary looking sweatshop
filled with sewing machines
on long folding tables
–welcome to america, i thought as i passed
by it’s cracked open door alone]
maybe the language wall
was unscalable
or i was too foreign
or you thought i was a white slaver
or some other kind of miscreant
or just bad at conversation
clotho, lachesis, atropos–
i wonder about you still
do you wonder about me
and if you had followed me
would i have had a windowless white van
and chloroform waiting
at the ready
i long to open you
the way the letter opener
desires to slip between
the thin layers of the envelope
to free the message within
your letters are breaths
whispered, imprints on
time both more substantial
than flame susceptible pages
but as pale as dissolving gossamer
Words and Feathers 