Monday, July 10, 2017

LILLA LATUS



LILLA LATUS

FRIDA

death  did not resemble
an old, wrinkled  lady
it was a dancing girl in
a Tehuacan dress
alluring and floating
above her head
like a bird  which
sat  over her eyes

on that day Frida
got on a bus
(she wanted to buy taco or churro)
which was to take her
to the limits
of pain

a driver was glancing
either at the picture of St.Mary of Guadalupe
or photos with naked girls
a painter with a bucket
full of red paint
was leaning  against a handrail
which was about to pierce
Frida’s pelvis
excluding one of
the possible versions
of future

and  Diego did not know then
that he would be
the next accident






A GIRL WITH RAINDROPS IN HER VOICE

She used to tell me about Plato and Aristotle.
Her Slavic accent sounded like gravel in the
Rain. Ing,ing, ing…
Feeling a fading shadow around my neck
I see a  bright cave paved with desire and
Fear. In her language love and hatred are feminine
Nothing was neuter. Golden mean in motion.
I was Alexander but not great enough to conquer
The furthest reaches of her soul.
Leaving  was a move excluding one of
The possible versions of future.
All places of my happiness are taken and create
Gloomy theory of forms.
Sitting in a brown study with  blind shutters,
I can hear raindrops searching for a dry land.
Falling, tapping, dying, ing, ing, ing…






MY RIGHT HAND

knows
how to wipe away a tear
from a kid’s face

good at handful
taking
clenches
the small fist
hearing white
hoof  of anger

sometimes
salty
as if somebody
sprinkled
tears on it

can  prevent  eyes
from being
cried out


has hollow gestures
down pat

right

missing hand

LILLA LATUS




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