PRIMITIVE IMPULSES
1
The bull of desire fertilizes the earth
with its venerable semen:
it calls us for the immolation
We are already a mixture of mucus,
harmless if consumed, a gift to the palate;
flavor of mollusks in their shells,
a torrent of mud, drinking from the well.
2
Your waves penetrate the beaches of my skin,
a rite of water that purifies in sex.
And every tear contains
the omen of religiosity.
The night becomes bright
returning us to the forest, to the mangrove
where the real enigmas are kept.
3
My love is a feline: a constellation of eyes.
And when it walks regally,
the green gets muddy and it starts licking.
Blue vapors. The vines are extensions
of our hungry touch.
Let us drive the canine tooth into the torn heart.
4
I discovered the fire in you.
My ax intimidates you. I strike you.
Because your body is dough in my hands,
I will make you into a statue. When this poem
and I have died, that’s how you’ll be remembered.
THE HORMONES ARE WRITTING
1
Cauldron of rabbits. The Eskimo kiss
is a pretext to taste the anus.
Electrical treeing to the limits of light:
urgent attraction of the anointed.
Fall and vertigo of the ascension.
2
Spirit of the morning, there are no impossible paths
since ambition transforms everything.
To offer my emancipated face
to the savage of the orchard
is a fair price: balance of frizzy dendrites
and multiple drippings. Cream and bitumen.
Then we will surrender.
3
In truth I tell you: prostitute me in your bars.
The rule is –the anatomy of the offer–
a gulp of fantastic waists:
baroque quality of senses
biting the mature banana.
And thus, the fee will be paid.
We will let the glands run
over the valleys.
Scratches on the buttocks and teeth marks
testify to zero gravity.
4
Because spring
has given us its pollen already,
the burro becomes lazy. The gales
give you their fingers, and then I smell your armpits.
And so we give life back to dust.
Pure lust saves the planet
and nothing more on what’s been created.
aleqsgarrigoz 