What a pain! mirrored in the legs descending from the head
or so he said
before his left ventricle blew.
-

Say how repetitive I am
say about my hands burning
over this

it sounds harsh now,
counting the days
until again.

Speaking of travels,

there is a specific warmth I recall oozing from yourself all the times I bleared against you. A resolute transfer of defeat: to get back to the point of loss, to accept whilst they talk about maturity coming along when it is only the most primitive impulse, to have my skin fuse with your nails, to devote and offer my ulcers not to my very own fingers, to devote and offer and the remorse, to get back and get back and get back and get back to the point when the void flashes
to ask you pain
and the eyes to water
like a mouth by a mouthful
like a cunt
beneath you.

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then, I contradict myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes.

W. W.

Μου έγλειψε τα χείλια, χασκογέλασε και παραπάτησε.
"Θα χορέψουμε;" με ρώτησε.
"Δε μπορείς να σταθείς." της είπα.
Ξεφώνισε βρισιές και βάρεσε το χέρι της στον τοίχο.
Πήγε πίσω δυο - τρία βήματα, μόρφασε.
"Πονάει;"
"Δεν πονάει. Όχι. Είναι ευφραντικό.
Τώρα ένας κόσμος αίμα κάτω απ'το δέρμα

γιορτάζει.
Μια γαμημένη ευτυχία!"