No use stiffening up when we go by, those faces of yours like pale treponema,
more buttery than the moon.
No use wasting your pity on us, those indecent smile like cysts full of pus.
Cops and coppers
Verbalize the great half-baked treason, the great crackpot challenge and the
satanic impulse, the insolent nostalgic flow of April moons, green lights,
Because we hate you, you and your reasonableness, we stick to our
precocious dementia, our flaming folly, our stubborn cannibalism….
Who and what are we? What a fine question!
Haters. Builders. Traitors. Voodoo priests. Especially. For we want all the devils
The iron-collared, the ones with a hoe,
Indicted, prohibited, escaped like slaves
not to forget the ones from the slave ship…
So we’re singing.
We’re singing the poisonous flowers springing up in the crazed prairies; the
skies of love streaked with embolisms, the epileptic mornings; the white blaze
of the abysmal sands, the wreckage floating down the nights stricken with the
lightening of savage smells….
The slow mill crushes the cane
The tardy ox doesn’t swallow the mill
Is that absurd enough for you?