On the way home
where a cat is waiting for me it is sweltering
my lungs groan under the weight of
tiled floors and then rock blocs

the arrow passionately given passage
condition for my unwavering
ecstasy or how high summer slides
inside me gliding high

a dinner of lukewarm
sun-heated cherry tomatoes
and sardines and white stone eggs
to dab my eyes with

legs with which the saucer of milk
I straddle the words wide
and my finger deep


                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover and Sarah Posman


so I am running after something on the street: iceblock footprints
mushrooming like gunshots from the ground
a waitress lies buried in bed she says
it’s always sorry sleep or joy-cry

but she must make haste
for any moment now she could
be impaled by a large man
respect for the poor

it’s in the clothes they wear nothing suits
the ferries for lampedusa are full
but for the mass of people in main
nowadays would like to sink of their own accord
leave the gold in the shop displays to rust forever

so we shut up when god wills it
impregnating the air
with molten sugar powder


on and offing on and offing
until my arms crack


                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman



the horse is no horse
but it waits in the wings
and I stroke its moon

its mane waits
until liberated by my mouth
its phases are lying on my plate

turning the Ferris wheel until moonmane and wheel
have spoke jointly and in the void
my chocolate ass drawn toward its round nostrils

pushed the horse starts angling for sugar and hay
for sandcastles fleas seafoam worked loose
background against which we both

urgent rolling boil


                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman




the trees asked for walking
with their gnarled trunks and wide crowns
the path followed the trees
and I followed the path

the birds were owner occupants
of the trees they had a great bird body that
renewed itself insistently

when a bird fell he lay hunched in the sand
beadblack eyes frozen the wings
half infolded
half flightpoised

tiny translucent beak

his last kiss given
of the air he sings in

I must not forget that I have feet
and legs heavy as sacks of salt


                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman



I’m reconciled with being created
and I’m touched all
sea anemone

a cold wind comes from over
the mountains it has been raining for days
and there is no improvement

in sight everyone keeps their lips
pressed together in icy silence
and the thermometer’s needle
can’t stop flirting with zero

if I speak henceforth only
with murderers and thieves
who go to ground like
Bedouins in the desert

my lonesome speech
is chaste as the water of
an ocean but then
then before the world
used it as a dump


                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman


angel laid out a new body for me
fired by a bullet scorching through my temple
borne by snow

a hat of lead and sunlight braided into paper
a long skinny boy
and I take his hand

staggered I will burst forth
flap flap

as the sea takes to the sky
and transforms
to briny clouds
waves storming



                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman




the white fucking bunnies fuck
and they fuck the roof flat
without remote control
chime chime it’s morning!
morning in this wet land
this toothpaste nutella land
this wet wasted field
there are three airstreams with
orange curtains a patch of fog appearing
on its own slips sideways out of view


strange things happen in this house
where the walls seem not to want
to right themselves — to not want to be right —
there are men asleep in the bed
usually the door closes on its own


in this footlight I seek the white fucking
bunnies emptiness is stretched on a gurney
one two three march let’s move
together and crack no vertebrae needlessly
both hands lovingly clutching this brain
we are homeward bound
to the white fucking bunny


the old white fucking bunny is never done
it fucked after which it fucked whereupon it further fucked
precisely that — it casts no horny eye on a black and white
striped summer dress — the old white fucking bunny fucks
blindly into posterity


the stork brings the baby and sings
merrily spinning through the tree grass
this new life is a fuckbunny
it fucks and fucks and fucks

the white fucking bunny fucks jumpfalling
while cracking oysters on the red bed
I could be here putting the tongue in fiery water
or letting it slide over the broad plane of
his soles mounting the better feeling

a body until it fits


the white fucking bunnies live
under rusty steeples near the ‘no
dumping’ site they slide in and out of each other
especially there unsuspected
clutching at each other’s soft white skin


if I rise one morning
then next to the white fucking bunnies in the grass
the attenuated fields are voided — faded —
is the morning through the window



                                                                 Translated by Joshua Clover en Sarah Posman