128 THE DISCIPLE, ICTION

With the joke of love between his jaws An apple and a fork In the popular verbena For the drooling liquor.

A sinuous and decked out lady Between its convolutions it carries its serpent A fumarole after the passage of its greatest tragedy The pretended ones of others and the hangings that she does not wear Finally The detours of our hearts The landscapes and the green meadows The dark thirst that drives us Dictating the one that calls us fire and entails The soul that doesn't even remain That is clouded And it is seasoned The body that flourishes and is blamed Degraded, clouded or sublimated neighbor love And the skin, the surface that enraptures us with shadows Smooth bodies and sounds of citrus rivers and sweet songs And something that commands us from another ancestor that disables us or drives us And beyond all the omniscient Until Samsara The senses The fire of greed Hatred and ignorance The rooster, the pig and the snake are annulled Knotted by the compound Atma For this kaleidoscope to disillusion Divert to the narrow and alien corridor of the nobility In the eightfold way of the spiral hall Artifice and fountain in the intangible Palaces of Brama

Spraying the Asavas of desire Levity to rise in austerity and detachment And the final dissolution in the, Nirvana of Enlightenment The extinction of the flame, At the first bite of the suckling pig..

128 THE DISCIPLE, ICTION

Choking on his already tired running love is nailed feet wallowing in the guts

To the silent night Hope is broken hands Magnifying His head of thoughts Howlin Labeling of other people's anxieties, my dog From the pulpit of space stations and the ferries Interfering with their preaching The other side of hell The teacher was already at the right hand of the father Behind his mother. Ahead a procession of mendicants.

Becoming that withdraws That sticks to the promise Of preaching at the expense Of an honor of ruffles nets Against the immersed flowers of the dolphin, Like the gospel cloak, of the miserable and the relapses. The ripped tracks of their chains Fountain of lavas on the lips of pure thirst In a barricaded street a door You looked at her shadow of your wings evoking the duel of your take off With all the stones that upholstered The pockets of your ways With its scrapes and weight From sweat and tears sinuous mirror of singing dunes spreading the endless roar from this adorable fatigue of these happy whipping and have deserved that outrage for the Name accompanied by stones and holes. And hope always in a transhumant step. Between his jacket I take out the ink

I paint his whip in reverse wave to the one it was on Then the doors were flung open. In the lineage of his pious eyes I look at his day And the playful fear left like your honor in the mud The dust became the sun dance At night the earth was the firmament of those points, bright stellar On his way to dance from east to west. The Romans and the Sanhedrin also looked at the orb And they found the unreachable fish Also dancing light And they shouted fisherman They wove their web He bothered them he drew I plant them like this on their nights of dread In dread I contemplate the sky on a shore