Drowned Fish

I like the moment of cleaning a fish...
to dig it out like when I write
and I turn over the entrails of the poem
I expose and throw away the bloody grammar
linguistics, I convert the fish into dynamics
and pour the balsamic meat.

I create the firefish-poem and let it swim
until you do nothing in the river of overflowing phrases
in your ears of oceans and abysses,
I let the fish swim, I let the poem swim
and allow myself to drown in a phoneme...

Snapping up the white of these distracted autumns...
like hungry birds of prey and sudden famine
of carrion running along the flat ground of the savannahs.
Because time has us and that's why we have
to fear him somehow...
I'm less calm... more strange!!!

I find peace strange and strangeness reassures me...
in the insane shadows, I find beauty. In the shadows
oddities of the folds of the curtains. Oh, oh, the weather...
Time is like giraffes in a savannah, they are there
pretend they're not, they graze and watch, they're there but
they are not... I love giraffes and the weather too.


PAR