The Serpent Sleeping Within (trans.)
Veintiuna,
they call this demon
they know each other from the intense sprees, on the loose,
rich in intoxication, seeking sunshade, shielding from the breeze like a buckler
two they are figuring out the thud, the cool dizziness.
two they are, seeking company. they are two serpent bellies
talking, outside, sudden; they ask whimpers of each other, the converse.
thus, serpents they are, and they anointed themselves among nobody.
when they find judgment they break the dawn, they move to another star,
they tear each other away; because there are wraths like curses of larvae people, like obsessed sparks,
like the dead from tax collection, like creatures who live in nightmares.
in them there are perfectly designed waves like the footprints of a spell.
in them there are gaps, there is a face, there is a pacific pilferage of memories that
run shoeless around the kitchen, the sofas, the terrace
where they look at each other as children do when they are born with their memory of God
and their families’ origin. two they are and their serpents come readily hidden,
immediately appearing upon a smile, no clothes, no knives.
two they are with ax mouths, like cities
like a house for everyone; and, even though they are at
the stomach of other bodies, they are the reward.
in them there are creatures of light, empires of countless seas;
they are together living from sheer tracking, from killer surges,
from bottles, from wine, from a piece of lobster, from champagne, from elevators,
from telephones, from a crowd that shines and wakes up in the morning.
two they are, and the entire night opens, drunk, before them.
LA SERPIENTE QUE DUERME ADENTRO
Veintiuna, así
le dicen a ese demonio.
se conocen de borracheras crecidas, sin atasco,
de una ebriedad rica, del quitasol, del tacto brisa a lo broquel
son dos descifrando el plaf, el mareo fresco.
son dos que buscan compañía. son dos barrigas de serpiente
conversando, afuera, repentinas; se piden maullidos, se hablan.
así son serpientes y se ungieron entre nadie.
cuando encuentran sentencia se amanecen, se mueven a otra estrella,
se desgarran; porque hay rabias maleficios de gente larva, de chispas obsesas,
de muertos del recaudo, de criaturas que viven en pesadillas.
en ellos hay ondas diseñadas perfectamente como pisadas de un embrujo.
en ellos hay grietas, hay rostro, hay hurto pacífico de memorias que
van corriendo descalzas por la cocina, los sofás, por la terraza
donde se miran como lo hacen los niños al nacer con su memoria de Dios
y el origen de sus familias. son dos y sus serpientes ya vienen ocultas,
son inmediatas a una sonrisa, sin ropas, sin navajas.
son dos con bocas hacha, como ciudades
como una casa de todos; y, aunque sean en
el estómago de otros cuerpos, son la recompensa.
en ellos hay seres de luz, imperios de mares sinnúmero;
son juntos viviendo del rastreo cerril, de maretas asesinas,
de botellas, de vino, de un poco de langosta, de champán, de ascensores,
de teléfonos, de una multitud que brilla y se despierta en la madrugada.
son dos, y toda la noche se abre borracha frente a ellos.