Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Rafael Pantino (b.1947)

If the hoopoe commands a flock of flights
The jealous man frowns and extends his delirium,
If his love swims in the stillness of the alabaster
The jealous man turns his bony wheel

What will carry me away — he asks himself —
Perhaps the sparkling of the young Caucasian
Which inhabits me between short breaths . . .

The mastiff that barks in the quarry of being
What else does it announce but the lover’s cut-off head?

He who squeezes his nocturne
And drains his glance on the rampart of the day
He has truly no fervor nor dreams nor rest
Ten young men swim naked
In the dark pond of his eyes
Since the jealous man amuses himself sucking his blood
While phantoms copulate
In the dark lava of his fate

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