continues to SIRENA
your voice styling
skin and evening, rain
bristling, hard-working, weaving
tango red with rage
drinking the life in my glass, throwing
my eyes
old maps where dying every summer,
all the love, shouting through the streets.
Your voice dark, madrigal of sleep,
with what subtle or alienated rope
body drags the world, sweeps, winds, and
souls attached to your belly overwhelmed? Dark
boiling wax in the winter,
inventing your voice is my name,
keeps calling from your fog,
your horizon plain unpredictable.
Your voice is distant, salt and time.
And your song so simple, so perfect
like a fingernail scratching crisp afternoon, like a child
liquefied ice in winter, as a grim
foreshortened by my writing postcards back
unsigned
tired of years of chance
moldy, yellow
pure thought.
And your song requires, like background,
, bottomless heart,
become my own giddiness, my faithful shipwreck and drown
so sweetly
men have not been, absent the lost
called the later ships in the afternoon.
goes on and your voice, alone with me,
cold circling the drain, so reasonably
-like silence, so as the tenacious
wave reason, the law
establishing its borders,
to a strange country dark.
your voice styling
skin and evening, rain
bristling, hard-working, weaving
tango red with rage
drinking the life in my glass, throwing
my eyes
old maps where dying every summer,
all the love, shouting through the streets.
Your voice dark, madrigal of sleep,
with what subtle or alienated rope
body drags the world, sweeps, winds, and
souls attached to your belly overwhelmed? Dark
boiling wax in the winter,
inventing your voice is my name,
keeps calling from your fog,
your horizon plain unpredictable.
Your voice is distant, salt and time.
And your song so simple, so perfect
like a fingernail scratching crisp afternoon, like a child
liquefied ice in winter, as a grim
foreshortened by my writing postcards back
unsigned
tired of years of chance
moldy, yellow
pure thought.
And your song requires, like background,
, bottomless heart,
become my own giddiness, my faithful shipwreck and drown
so sweetly
men have not been, absent the lost
called the later ships in the afternoon.
goes on and your voice, alone with me,
cold circling the drain, so reasonably
-like silence, so as the tenacious
wave reason, the law
establishing its borders,
to a strange country dark.
(De Transit Juan Manuel Macías. DVD Editions, 2011)
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