1
Fifteen spots of light are stampeding on
The threshold of the house
A brown butterfly is trying to get up for the last time
Fifteen spots of light throw down their guts on
The threshold of the house
They remind me of the many beautiful things
By means of which I tried to commit suicide and
Did succeed
Desire
Is all that which we can imagine
Everything which we do not see
I stand in the kitchen and
In a round bowl I put the chicken off which
I wash away the dust of time
With a slight touch I spread some ginger and cardamom on it
Very gently I put the thin neck on the other end of the universe
What does all this mean ?
What does it mean except that I need to droop around myself
I need to become a fetus back again in my mother’s womb
I garnish a decorated serving dish with vegetables
I listen to the last words of the rain
I listen to the nostalgia which fell on its leaves
When it lost its mother the tree
What does all this mean ?
What the hell does it all mean except that
I desire to kiss a man
A man with red eyes and green scary hair
Scary
One o’clock in the morning
I stand behind the window
Rain falls from the sky
Why all these fish
This, without fail, means that I want to be reborn again
If I were a man like you
I would not let go of any one single woman
Until I turn her into a long bone
Like the one in the back of the fish
I wouldn’t leave her before making her fit for nothing
Except for a white comb which I would throw into the sea
And which the fairies would snaffle to comb the fire’s hair with, far away there
But I am a woman and not a man
I stand for long hours in the kitchen
I put my heart on the table
I watch everybody while they’re silently eating
I wear a long smile when
My husband finishes eating the fish and
Puts that marvellous comb on the edge of the table
I wait until he sleeps
I snaffle the comb and throw it to the fairies who are sleeping in my soul there
I wonder what should she cook
That woman who thinks of a man on the surface of this planet and desires him ?
I wonder what she should cook
That woman who is incapable of desiring any man on the surface of this planet
That woman who only wants to sleep quietly
Without pain in the joints
That woman who watches the old fairies coming
From under her nails at two o’clock in the morning
With white hair
Long long white hair
Fifteen spots of light throw down their guts
On the threshold of the house
A lonely piece of fish I put
Before a cat which lost its way and for which
My heart was the last light it could resort to
Three o’clock in the morning
The cat is crying continually
As if it wanted to tell me
I am not hungry
I am not your brown butterfly which is trying to get up
I suffer from a loss
A severe loss
Fifteen spots of light are stampeding on
The threshold of the house
A brown cat is trying to get up for the last time
Fifteen spots of light throw down their guts
On the threshold of the house
They remind me of the many beautiful things
By means of which I tried to commit suicide and
Did succeed
Four o’clock in the morning
Rain is falling from the sky
Fish are everywhere
A heart throws itself besside the spots of light
On the threshold
And there is not one fish
One single fish in this house.
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2
You know nothing about the truth
the protruding bone in your foot
the big hole in your heart
the sad dark spot in your shadow
what remained from your life on the tree
what forgetfulness melted of the candles of your short memory
What you have had from sea shells
What I have had from their cracking
All of these are real reasons
legitimate reasons for a woman like me to be depressed
to get the damned hot flashes
at night
to fall in love
to hate
to want to look at the eternal eyes of men
to Feel dizzy
to come out to death
to Commit Suicide with an overdose of beauty
Walking towards the little trees
trees that are not Human-like
Trees that know nothing about our lives
about your cage that is two fingers wider than my heart
The rocks kneeling on your chest
The shipwreck behind my days
For compelling reasons
For women sitting for long by the remote doors
For them choosing poetry
For eating the hearts of the babies whom they loved overwhelmingly
for wasting their lives in making deep gallows for the moon to pass
for
escaping the war
singing as sick bats
dying cruelly
glued to darkness
to falling down
their long fall in winter
beside the fireplace
in the mouth of the flowers
under the armpit of loneliness
in the corner of the bathroom
under the dry bread baskets
between two bullets
one in the head
the other in a poem
You
You know nothing about the truth
You think you see it in the news at the bottom of the screen
In your victories over wasted time
On the thigh of a woman who sleeps beside you without deception
In your Forgetfulness
your fake forgetfulness of the desiccated little girl behind the window
the girl who sleeps in the backyard of your heart
beneath the darkness
among the trunks of little trees I loved
gentle trees
that don't want to know anything about our scary imaginations
about a Tomorrow where I leave:
my head to war
your picture to the cold
my fear to the dawn
and my poetry to the eyes of the dead
The dead who know nothing of their pale coma
Who will die again in loneliness
Who will know a lot about their ghosts
about their lives
about our terrifying life
You do not know
You do not know
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