ars poetica two (fragment)

of not saying anything of sharp wire garter belts. legs like minced meat leprocy in fememine proportions. never so much beauty lying together on the floor let´s go with spades or saucepans and pick it up god. it´s true there isn´t anybody. high heels pointy soles adhered to them are flesh that was once a leg and is now flesh with white spots. the sound retaches itself and walks on a deathly stave a superb comedy the carmine-colored sound carpet. the liquid carpet a textured tongue a ten-seater sofa. on the sofa another body the smell running over him head to foot, yellow clothing mandatory. i thought it was brazilian modernism but no, it´s a leg.





(publicado en versal 6, traducción de Laura Chalar)