(for  César Vallejo)

Today you call as soon as I have got up.

'Arise! arise! Her eyes. Her eyes.'

Some body is divinely pissed, I think. 

Maybe uncle Frank, who leaves on Friday

Comes home, or not, for mass on Sunday.

Throwing up signs and cogitations of romance.

Who knows: sound is excreted by the innocent cow

Why should she be blamed for pollution

With all the shit we throw up?

The innocent donkey appeals to me,

The innocent rooster too,

Crows three times: don't slaughter them today.

Please! Life penetrates even ecumenical Mary.

Though she's only a statue in the nave of the church.

How can we conceive of the soul

If we've been protected from evil?

I do not know:  the lightless of  love,

The skyless dreams of rhaposdy

I remember like a day from my childhood.

Maybe, after a certain age, people turn to stone,

Almost nothing protects me

From  Μέδουσα "guardian, protectress."

What we do not know is not an illusion,

Folk were burnt at the stake

For asking questions about the invisible while others

Drank beer and ate meat and fucked and took a slash

On Clapham common or elsewhere.

Let us burn this bartbarity away

In words that do not live off myth as a panacea.

Rather we will use ice to cool our heads

Realise heaven and hell co-exist 

Here in this world that we know nothing of. 

The rooster always was an uncertain acolyte

But bright, enough.