Bulmenia Iii Poem by Juan Arabia

For a moment, for years perhaps,
the Brescia fish sold out
while the suicide shot crowned the flowers,
the whitest, the freshest flowers in the market.

For this bless the deceased tonight
who from their boredom extinguish your lamp,
whose silence fills your cup
with the sterile breath from their guts.

Or illuminate your face, oceanic,
inhale the deep-seated sadness of the weak,
let your foot fall on the less frequented streets
and fill your pockets with the ore defecated by time.

That hallucinatory one who crawls like a crab
changing every location, every distance.
This way they filled your lungs with black swans
and from your heart they created a sewer.