Sorrow is hidden in a head crowned in blood
Towards the wisdom called Jerusalem
You are killing the man who listens to the distance
Is “Ecce Homo” truly there
The higher hierarchy of Spain
While time flows despair descends to haemorrhage
Never painfully, not admitting pain
A bird I am
A bird with a desire to die in Spain.
I will write in the report
She is hiding in soft fruits
Mortified Julia Burgos
Otherworldly memory ticks away six o’clock
Vanity on the fox’s trail
Behold, a miracle!
Supposedly one-sided at instants
Suitable for a scrambled moment
The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet
Tasseled with nails instead of sandals
Anything but sough
Shores and scrapings fantasizing
Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you
To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils
Wistful across the stones you overcome
Blacker than night
You fear there will no longer be vertebrates
It is the third hour in the night After
You do not grasp – the spilt blood is chiming
From unveiling you wrongfully dread
In agony of you yourself
While we pine atop Grecian terraces.
Still, rivers are audible in endeavour
And at that conjoined
In mirrors is the road to land of the dead
And worshippers of the chronometer
And the unachievable bloom of summer
Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter
We are going to satiate ourselves
Grasshoppers as well my daughter
Before they abandon us through the windows
I forefeel that the unreliable man
quiets his breath and embarks on the way
of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars
The signs along the path are the only thing left for you
Is pride rolling like wheels
in your brain’s sheath?
Will you spin
on the table on screens
of the safeguard,
confinement plum with means
to place wings barred
from air’s ring!?Judgement has to encounter those
whose feet have been walking astray;
to have drama ram them, dispose
their whole being on the same day.
Coal and smoke, tar sills quivering in rage
so big to us from the peasant suburbs;
a delay in morale, in a scarce age
the fury’s fist against the wall perturbs.
Like rats playing wheels with their snouts wide-jawed,
ragged railroader skin-tanned by the sun’s flames,
list to my voice that’s both flawless and flawed
and somewhere behind it a lot of names..
I live as a woman,
I’m dying a Roman!