Monday, January 17, 2011

Oda A Frederico Garcia Lorca (Transbliterated)

If only They could cry for me
If only They could divert Their eyes from Their appetite
They might hear my voice
A tiny lute
Screaming poetry
Beneath the rubble

They had painted the hospitals blue
Like the schools and neighborhoods
Now under water
They had plucked all the angels’ feathers
Boxed the scales of the pregnant fish
And thrown the sky to the horizon

Yet God gave me a dark skin
And crosses and ritual with which to be clothed
So I might grow a rose in this tragedy
Turn a beast’s eye into the rising sun
And be cleansed

They wear Their clothes just once
They laugh amidst a hurricane of roses
They sing seductively
Of Their clear arteries
And white teeth
Their thin throats and fingers

They kill me
Being so fucking sweet

They kill me
With Their ignorance
That somewhere
In the middle of Their cold lives
Stands a gift horse
That someday
My God will animate

They kill me
For Their cemeteries
While dining by a rushing river
Amidst water fountains and tombs
At night
Between fields of hogs
As the river waits like a bed
To quench us burning soldiers
Subitizing our beliefs
Trying to make a death in Their river
Seem like immortalization in marble
A state funeral
Heavy crowns and all

They kill me to hide the truth about
The night of ash
Their inaugurated crosses
Pious and grinning
The river Death has cried
Deprived of its inheritance
The trucks trucking off Their gabbing whores
Tearful but lacking remorse

If only my soul too
Had been lost in Their night
Its store of memories
Riding the rails on vapors
Imbued in mystery
Fully saturated
To finally arrive in a forest of beliefs

I am naked
In a pool of my urine
Trapped in the crush of my home
Commanded to speak
The secret of Their night

The city reeks of deserted bodies
Awaiting salvation
Or at least a comment
Once silent ships surface like whales
The young captains hear Their appeal
Academics characterize the semiotics
Video feeds Their dinnertime
Definitive newspapers assume Their timeline
While my eyes squint through the dust
And my mouth bubbles blood

If only I could roll down Their mountain of rubble
And silently rejoice
In seeing my home whole
If only I could
Kiss my tongue to the lip of water
Brighten tragedy with the sweat of kindness
Dance again on the dry earth
And so sow it
By my blood
Turn this planet into a world
Drink of its bounty
Wear the mask of an astral dance
And lure the finest cats

If only I could
Get to a hospital
That treated my race
Be stabilized
Be fed
Have a bed for the night
Even in a barrack
Even with spiders
And other hushed ones

If only I could
Mingle with the secret of roses
Embrace love
Wander through the day with my baby
Then settle down with the famous
And others to be forgotten

They’ll reclaim Their crown
Their mantle of youth
Float like a butterfly
Above real life

Even if They released Their slaves
Only They would be free
They’d happily have a dialogue
With me creating a ruckus
While They speak so sensibly

Why scream my poetry
No one is here to hear
Why scream my poetry
Tonight all have gone
To the mass grave pyre
Seeking my warmth
Seeking light
Even a sunset
With its concentric rings
Each slicing one more heart
Spat out as a star that night

There are so many stars in Their night
Glittering in the river beneath Their window
While They feast
And consider who to sue
On behalf of the poor

Even some of Them have died
This time
Having lost Their golden bearings and wallet
In the waiting room
In the cafeteria
In my hands
Suffering under terse demeaning
How They’ve become a part of everything
How the stars have rippled away in an unending river
As They peered outside the window
How Their bellies can taste emptiness
How Their base mojo now sings alto
Realizing death’s wave can tumble up any height

If only the world
The streets
The sour
The sweet
The desperate
The established
Those who’ve dived right in
Those floating over humanity
Could have a place with nothing
To separate Them
From me whom They see as stone
See right through

If only these tiny people
Would stop questioning me
If only my blood had not coagulated
If only my irascible body
Had not re-animated
If only those miserable wires
Had enveloped my corpse
I could live free in Heaven perfectly fine
Things would not think to offer me peace
Melancholy would not bear to bare itself
I would not know such heavy things
I would not focus my savage anger
Trans bliterator

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1/20/2021 9:11:57 PM #