Love Sonnet XI
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl
through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for
your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
The Heavenly Poets
What have you done
you false existentialist sorcerers?
you surrealistic poppies
shining on a tomb?
you pale grubs in the capitalist cheese?
What did you do
about the kingdom of anguish?
about this dark human being
kicked into submission?
about this head
submerged in manure?
about this essence
You didn't do anything but escape
you sold piles of debris
you looked for heavenly hairs
cowardly plants, broken fingernails
"pure beauty" "magic".
Your works were those of poor frightened folk
trying to keep your eyes from looking
trying to protect their delicate pupils
so you could make for your living
a plate of dirty
which the masters flung to you.
Without seeing that the stones are in agony,
without defending, without conquering,
blinder than the wreaths
in the cemetery
when the rain
falls on the motionless
rotten flowers on the tomb.