from Santiago Waria (1992)
NN
like arms and legs numb
like some doll decapitated
like that hand broken in pieces with tendons in the air
like a dead eye and another foggy glass one
like a mannequin from a junk store
or a stiff dress
like that mess from Patio 29
like the grayish swaying that drags itself
we walk through Santiago
and perhaps this doesn’t matter
Ñona all over the place
at breakfast time, in the micros in a hurry in the National Hymn rampant
and sonorous, clinging to the windows like stickers,
on the buildings and balconies, from north to south, going up and
coming down the elevators, in the kindergartens
they put it in song in the heart of the Sagrada Familia, between their
defenders and detractors, between apolitical politicians and plastic coat
scientists
they pulled it out with pliers from the pores of the theoretical artistic and
literary avant-garde
they collect it with shovels in the Ministry of Defense and other
indefinable ministries, from the bars and hospitals, they remove it from
under eyelids and tongues, from the zoo, from the sacristies, and from all
the media without exception
democracy launched it with a fan, without resolving it indeed,
and it’s in the air, in the oaths, in freshly made love,
in the recipients of ideas, in burning patience,
here and in the middle of nowhere
our daily bread
Other, he, the same
man that crossed the avenue and became lost
in a revolving door
the very same infected with otherness
or dressed in that suit
in addition to a silence
a talk-your-head-off talker
shaded/brilliant
his pure intellectualism taken to the mechanical scale
that one
with bite marks on his lips and in his eyes
swells of postmodernism: the empty box
yes, a sad tie tottering
and he drank several beers without noticing
the foam
he was in the mirror and his flesh didn’t exist
unrecognizable
prince and Mr. Nobody, Other
bargain frotteur
an atom lost in the crowd
orphan
Patron: You’re at home
this no man’s land
and in confidence
lose your head for a while if you live
to break it
Dear human beast
monolith of tattered sex
make a pact with the devil here
in Mancia de los Nidos
Juan Mauro Bío-Bío sings a couplet and
a drink
The Public Woman No. 1 makes a close-out sale
of her merchandise
The Man of Bidding Street arranges
his moustache
Together we go down the wide boulevards
of the happy life
(to be continued)
Que sera
we haven’t passed beyond the level of the alphabet
that we flood in the mound of the short phrase
pushing the letter for all its worth
- do we want it to come by blood? –
I can’t explain such ceremony
- is it alright already to walk with stilts through the streets?
I don’t buy the small screen menu
although I keep paying for eggs at the crossroads
que sera
gadget or enchantment
Rhesus macacus
and the children of Man
race and reason
Retzius
rhizomes
raids
put on the suit of the universal man
and “The Voice of Blood” dear Magritte
the Mapuches their heart doesn’t rot friend
the blood pulls down
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”