The Bare Facts

The Bare Facts

What wave is it, that when it hits against the body

makes the sailor on duty pay attention,

and later say, it’s nothing, strolls around the room again,

looks out of the window at the scattered lights of the street?

What come-and-go is spends the body of its gait

against the spotted hull covered with marine parasites?

Do you hear the noise? Does the noise come from the corridor

or does it come from your desire?

(Some kind of noise that stumbles with the some kind of silence within you)

Maybe they already turned on the reflector to ask for your help!

Maybe it was that jealous woman who stalks you!

But no, not yet, nobody walks down the hallway to your door,

no one stumbles with the chair inside you, your hero costume

spread on the chair, the same as your hero feelings,

ready for when you spring into action.

Resume the same discourse, begin the same conjecture,

the classic flaw in the middle of the road,

the Divine automobile with the flat tire

obstructs the traffic of tears and the dead,

circulating in opposite directions.

Resume the same interruption, the historical razz

of the flat tire, the sophism of each resurrection,

the rusty anchor of every embrace, the movement

from within desire and the movement from outside the word,

like two twins who cannot agree to be born.

(Here the wit of the phrases suddenly twang

when it notices the illusionist’s top hat;

that soap perfumed by literature

with which I wash the unreal parts of my body,

in other words, the radius of action of what we call the soul,

the entrails of the body,

the dance of the seven veils

veiled by the transparency of the dilemma,

and at night, before bed,

the dentures in the glass of water,

the false wound in the glass of water,

the false desire in the glass of water.)

The signal       the signal                     the signal

What comes-and-goes wears away the body's gait

against the spotted hull covered with marine parasites?

You stopped walking around the room.

But do you hear that noise? Does the noise come

from the corridor or does it come from your desire?

Come and go talk around a chair

where there is a strange folded suit,

go back and forth around an old, broken car

hinders traffic on the highway,

crisscrossed gestures chatter of windows and stairs

carve the Greek statue whose sense hesitates and falls,

the path between a window and a reflector

that has not been lit, while the broken shells

of the darkness crunch and dissolve

under the sudden flutter

with which darkness drives the night.