Four Poems

Wingston González

So My Kimera, Black Faviola

so my kimera, black Faviola, the bagpipe pattern
melodious cerpent of only fire, in her open body
went to the stud, it didn’t florish, wasn’t in the lyght, didn't tel

my kimera, Faviola, sea of heathen songs
india and pretty;
            and eyes to joint, and hollows to doors
this beside me, peremnial, it’s beside the cages
that prison her immaculate blood, her unstitched beauti
from the darkness of the sholder, beast freedom sacrilege:
I told you, you didn’t came from there, my love

you swore that love bigan in the sea
that the lesbic rain it’s not more languid
that the water inside a cage is the remoteness, that
between darkness and a shadou
to the breaths of your sleeples night you fed
the wails from the senseless tree

“so cybilized these guys,” you said
“from the swamp of the world hard broders,” I cried
“from Asia furious biolent wolves,” you went on

the verbe confirms more against Corinto, I shake for Christ
from the treeson Eva saves herself, Faviola
Eva saves herself, my love

Psicobilly, the Unflight, I

May 3rd, I didn’t go out of Munich,
nor I got to Vienna the morning after with a fractured voice
nor early, or late, or ever
where flowers were, flowers are still, Apolo
cursing, sortilege, round, death, scarecrow
no one stops the dawn’s tenderness from a plane to Bucharest
of the unguarded things, the fireless things
of the flying threads, the infinite soundtrack
the waterless, naked, infertile world

what do you know about the waterless, naked, infertile world?

crying, climbing, flexible horses bellow
my bloody image, never my battle, never
the lipstick, the window, the unknown, blinking
the cheerless fatality, the atheist fatality
in the shape of the victims one finds
dark and brilliant fingerprints, narrow spaces
splendid bridges, stripped arms, rhythm

Europe moves the inner universe of the barren within
and there is my blood, there black flowers, there
the doppelgänger of a radioactive world.

Mental Yellowstone or the Suppressed Silence in Every Tongue

my usual patria is the edge of the earth
sleep until midnight
halfway between skin syntax
that fights against the far-off land
and several sewed holes
to the very silence
of a movie theatre on a Sunday afternoon

my usual patria is a TV series
eyes of a luis buñuel film
redone in armpits
of hideous rural ghost
eyes in free fall from Angels Falls
eyes of green mouths
tiny classic numerology
eyes of a burst inside the
poorly cut cup, saint to machete, arrhythmic coin, long reflection,
               Ecclesiastes’ verse
over the bed, bottle of blood out into impalpable sea
d’arpentigny cashmere treaty
the living room’s sudden darkness
street poetry, new year’s
glass, control post
nothing to say
with these words nothing
to say
look at the things that wished to be looked at:
a dispersed reality
in concrete eye

[Tourists Waiting to Leave Paradise]

hide the Vía Oro gatherings
hide the birds and exhale autumn’s typhoons
as dead children all is possible:
rivermovies riverstreets
Marlene, parcels, truth, and centuries of flowers 
icy covers, little stones, brutal
            memory, baobab

rivermovie kids
we write to the poet because whether he wants it or not other wars nest—
nest us/ SO COME NAKED
because other wars nest—SO COME
bye bye godlets, reptilian, disco mannequins
broken tongue
I’ll always resist death telling me
I woke up and my name is a name everybody in this bar knows
I was born before the silence of the seas/ CELLOPHANE
wind purges
fetus and defying accounts  
harmless tongue of the Latino hymen
            our early morning

I was born before their godlets
infinite Muhammad scratched the Nirvana and in his guesthouse
my comrades broke the rules
smoking, dressed indecently, yes
smoking, expecting the absence, fuck, what else?
ruined brats, know-it-alls; ticket in hand
brown lungs, Charleston, ticket in hand, the flight announced
                                                                        four fifteen
            ten past five, the clock says

translated from the Spanish by José García Escobar