craneo de un caballoSoon it was clear that the moonwas a horse's skull,and the air, a dark apple.The gearshift shudder ofa heavy-laden truck fades,all the while, thesustained drone of bees;past their prime and sluggish,their wings cannot be stilled.A dull glint behind the eyesof a yoked pair of oxen,standing at a crossroadbetween myself and the fieldsthat bake in the Augustof a Spanish sun,waiting for thehammer and anvil to sing,for the echoing refrainof rifle shots beyonda stand of distant treesshimmering from spent cartridgesin the waning afternoonof your exquisitely curved spine.
Exile"Exile"The sound of her voice washis music, mute of syllablessinging of his banishmentfrom the grace of her words. He gathered sleep from theshadows of her breasts,keeping himself to a dark nichewithin reach of her perfume.Keeping her in his sighthe wonderedas he began to pleasure;when had she known? He imagined amuch younger time whenshe could extractmilk from the stars,when she first offered a cupto his lips, trembling fromkneeling on the cold foyer tilesof her regal domicile.Now, there he wasreduced to a vicarious actthough the sight of heruplifted him-the upward spiral ofpale smoke fromthe snuffed candlesby her adorned bed...never taking hisquartz eyes off herand her fertilitywas all the adornment he desired;he, a pebble in the gardenneeded no pillows or curtains.His nostrils filled with her-was it narcissus, or osmanthus?All he knew from that moment whenthe agony of his passion ignited,was hearing her voice singthe son
OrcaA gutted ship's hull lists,dragged into a roiling seafilled with blue-glass shark fins,leaving entrails of fever throughdepths of eternal night-the oil-slick surfaceshifting mottled moonlighton coral reefs calcified againstthe leaves of bodies that drift by,sinking, to disappear into canyon fissures deeper than theshadows of heaven can reach-pods of whales cruise overheadgiving off their eerie cries,baleful orgasmic moansas they claim their takefrom the debauch of a hunt.The moon reaches its apexover the battlements...deceptive silence beliesthe solitude of a killingduring an orca night.
Descending the Ghatbalancing a clay cup long gone cold,my wet silks cling as I stand near ahalf-naked woman, bowed and bathingin the sluggish river Ganges...and I watch smoke curl up fromthe pyres of heavy earthen bodiesdissolving in the shallows whileall the lies of the world burn