I looked so deeply into the eyes of the german shepherd that
his snout jumped out like a stone catapulted by a child and
his translucent eyeballs whirled about like marbles colliding
as a matter of fact, it wasn’t a dog, it was mephistopheles
which means I might not be able to recognize you when I wake up, next week.
the first time I saw the devil, he was wearing sunglasses
it’s true I have no reason to make a deal with lucifer, but I wish I had sex more often
I like those demons who squeeze their left feet in between doors of broken elevators,
crawl under bridges,
scratch outdated newspapers
the demons are greyish, and I am lousy.
I become possessed, now and then.
a few weeks ago, while I was whirling about in a nightclub, I fantasized about dental prosthesis and repeated
utopia utopia utopia
once in a while I have sex with myself, lying on the tiles
just like a cat I lick all my orifices
I pray with pressed thumbs hiding kitchen knives in my tights
I let my leg come loose, until I forget the sun
can I ask you then: how can I possibly remain alive while collecting such lovely distorted holograms?
the psychoanalysts will unveil some trauma, the psychiatrists will prescribe me pills,
but I’ll be driving freight trucks no matter what, closer to the border of oil wells,
the deep springs of incandescent water.
would you dare melt my suitcase?
this is how it goes,
as if the stutterers had divination powers
casting spells unannounced
provoking short circuits in the
yesterday I took a bus crowded with sailors wearing red caps and striped t-shirts
grabbing each others’ backs sliding switchblades over their necks
it reminded me of fassbinder’s adaptation of that book by jean genet, querelle
with a stolen pen knife I drew thirteen red lines in between my crotch and my chest
while watching them move
one of the sailors had hair long like a muted mermaid
and the image of that thick, dense wig
and the insistent drops of blood staining my white t-shirt
were bound to shape my elusive destiny
the sailors’ limbs make repetitive movements as they dance in flocks
each one of them an exact replica of the others, as though I were hallucinating.
I almost drop dead out of sheer commotion and helplessness.
I almost drop dead, but no I do not want to die.
I learn a poem by heart from a book I’ve never read,
a book that could have saved me without me knowing it,
but which no longer exists.
I hide my fingers full of grease so as not to get
the imaginary pages dirty
I’m holding the last gambling chips in my hand,
I’m gonna bet it all