My Arms Dispel Me

My spinning fingers reel off

Threads of thought to the uneven horizon…

My semicircle embracement besprinkles

Swarming couples of colours and shapes…

I trace their spiralling paths to deltas,

Embroidering stems on time’s canvas,

I harvest the budding flowerbeds of nacre,

I yield pomegranates to set sadness on edge,

Healing the grieving road

Whenever the gravitation shores crumble,

I burn the sawdust of rancorous rebellions,

I tame the stratosphere with blackbird ambrosia…

 

I take wing home the same way…

I breathe the books, nestled on the grey shelf,

Strangling the bile of the isosceles triangle,

Then I strew silks and scars

Over the rainbow’s stout rings,

My fingers gently beat the rhythm of time,

Darting red butterflies,

At ebb and flow, I guide you

Through the golden realm, fluttering hopes,

I murmur your systoles and diastoles,

Forging love’s seconds into statues.

With you into a bird I’ve grown.

Look, how high I’ve flown… !

 

Trample and Smile!

Flambada has posted on her brass the pomade,

the internet grin, lock and chat, vida reciclada

 

in a commodius setting, a lisping mandala, borrowed

for the dream hours, log in, log out, reply, I’m forwarded,

 

her smile trimmed with Vino Royale, special watch − Tigress −

and hobbling banners of organisation culture in regress,

 

her forfaitaire love, ichtyol on the lips of syllables from crossbred,

pagan-blond, reforged, servophile, snuffling and browsed…

 

On the outskirts of literary verbozoons, pears boil in beings,

the draped skiddings haste to scrub the floors of frankings…

 

Hurry-scurry ! Trample and smile for grassfests, borshfests,

fireworks and thoughts pané, panoplies from holocaustic scraps,

 

thatchstock and butts, visas for muzzles and barrels,

citatitis since babyhood, away with the backwater gravels,

 

on immortality’s linoleum-grit tiles, to felicity’s pearl barley,

implants of enthusiasm, cranesbill in the dust of hearsay,

 

the salience of overfruition, the supreme unctuousness of flattery,

to the clouds, trample on frozensmiles, celestophagocytic warblery !

 

Hufff-Pufff-Fluuuffff… !

I am the proprietress of the crystal rocks,

I wield their edges like shuffling the playing cards…

Stepping on air, I send my peregrine falcons to reconnoitre

and my gardens of royal roses to crusade −

how bizarrre the vociferous soap bubble psychology must be :

easy-peasy diegesis, the bats of the zodiac signs, riveting nexuses,

self-alarms, self-analyses, self-biographies, autocephalies,

autocracies, auto-da-fés, self-echolalias, self-evaluations,

self-phagocytoses, autogamies, autohaemolyses, self-delusions,

self-justifications, autolatries, automatisms, self-contentment,

self-denials, autonomies, self-pastichings, self-pilotings,

self-advertisings, self-savings, self-sedations, self-suggestions,

autotelisms, self-therapies, autotomies, autotoxins, self-furbishings,

self-zygotes, autosomes, self-vaccinations, the impassioned

egoveneer vigorously thrive on the bread’s hopes, the dining rooms

of the anodyne inflammations lean against the moon’s sickle,

the nouveaux riches of the carafe insurrections splutter shards,

“Essen, trinken, schlafen, Schluss !”…

Va-va-voom ! Want some eternity ? You can whistle for it ! −

Birth and Death strike my bagpipes of luckiness,

yet the idea press does not bother about the reeds’ escapades…

The rocks of air altogether dispel our doubts,

the libraries of conditioned air corrugate our incalescence,

the wounds of air tango between man and woman,

the people of air chisel the memory’s wishfulness,

the hearts of air plough the suburbia’s wilderness,

the church bells of air estrange us from ignorance,

the lights of air attune the lily-white spinnings…

Watch ! Just like that, hufff-pufff-fluuuffff… !

 

English version by Gabriela PACHIA