A woman and a ball: out of a sudden agreement
the world forms, in its inane rotation.
It begins with the fish, which inhabits the wasteland.
A curve sighs. Nothing swells immediately.
A mathematical point: the sphere,
void, terrestrial, a cloud of breath.
If the chimera doesn’t declare itself
in service and pure verse,
it will wail its words of truth.
The world revolves in an animal rush.
The most humble fish, of all the mud,
mired in the eye, bearing the colure.
A leg, or terror, arises, expands:
the air is the passion of the bather:
light, in recess, flashes and dies out.
A woman and a ball drop from a bristle,
a thin line of ice in which everything concludes,
matter the hand raises into view.
World in the air, simple being and aspect:
algae rising boldly within the descent.
A fish that bites its own tail bleeds mud.
Fabio, this passage and flow and writhing I’m thinking of
is the world: element, eruption: everything, nothing,
in the immense power.
From the rhythm: figures and the first creed,
and happiness, a lesson for the universe as it rolls
into time, pulling along its shell and ancient verse.
translated by Katie Silver and Rick London
as songs and tales will have you know,
came from that technology,
mechanical milk pumped breast
to an unstilled conscious ,
stellar glow watches from above
as we evolve in growth
cell textures merge
and we appear
units that almost conform
yet defined by our features
unique to our body own,
then comes the urge
to put our own smudge
on this planet of
blue white and green,
the inquisitive sing
something called love
and by way of this
activate that thing called passion,
contortions and twists of
and processing our breed
by way of natural birth
to be held and kissed,
as the mantra is found
and we have arrived