|
The torrential fury of everything
that belongs
to metal, to its secret mass without ears,
invades my condition, delineating its empire.
Man, stung in the task of
the dusk,
in the jungle raises up his crest of smoke,
flexes his muscles and moans under the stone;
until the tenacious fruit of life
separates him from the surroundings; he screams
and, lifeless, tumbles into the labour of silence.
The beings buried in obscure
orbits
are fashioned into a rosary hung from the branches,
and to the impervious soldier who touches himself
they leave the stiff pain of a glacier and nothing more. |
