from
Luces en la Jaula / Lights in the Cage
a bird may even become bird
(still so stained with blood/feathers)
but the almost I
that figure on every threshold
how do I recover
the whatever/that we inventoutside
antagonist/ignorant
that we imitate like a way of living
(things have)
•
if no recourse remained no
tactics
against you/against desireI'd still have
danger
so I strip off my clothes
who knows what campfires
give you (giant)
birth
what herds astray
what makeshift
shelters
objectsin space or atoms
yearning for
happening
/
at your command but
tonguetied
me afraid?
starved for an unsheltered self
I resound
I will die in my place
uncomforted
by such squalor or out of sync
what an end
century I'm in/
cut off and/you see/
without
lifeline or
blueprint
-translated by Anne Twitty
Marķa Negroni
read the author's bio and Working Notes
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