Eaton, and Other Industries
The French poets: Bonnefoy, Dupin,
and du Bouchet,
do you expect us to eat these billboards,
or comb our eyebrows with these metals
that drop from their hands?
Jorge Carrera Andrade astride a horse
of wind! Your nose
sniffs at the corners of these buildings.
In your right hand
you hold an angel of lead;
in your left
the body of Rafael Alberti.
How sorrowful the people of our country,
They stand inside mouths
along the rainy streets.
The downtowns flowing with hair;
a woman walks with a bleach bottle
tied around her waist.
When I step outside the house,
all I can say is
“the holy solitude is lost.” My feet
merge with gravel as I watch
the blue evening bend its neck
and sink below the earth.
I stand in a vacant field
and lift up my arms.
Its sands begin to move
beneath my feet . . .
This is where I will die,
here in this vacant field
beneath a starched handkerchief.
Alan Britt
Posted over on AGNI Online
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