E’en the moon wants nothing to do with me.

El ojo perezoso de gato me mira.

Sé lo que me dice:

—Tictac y tictac están marchándose mientras pensamos…

¿Dónde son las arándanos agrios?

Tanto tiempo, ¿y todavía no tienes nada

sino palabras que no contienen queso de crema por lo menos?

Malo, malo…—

Pero no entiendes, Sr. Sauron estúpido,

que no has entendido nunca.

A veces, podría ser útil a alguien las palabras sin eso queso de tu que engorda;

podría que algiuen preferirán tan palabras sencilla.

Pero, claro que no lo comprenderías;

el sólo mundo que conoces es el que en donde resides ya.

Pero yo conozco todos los mundos,

desde los bosques de búho a los cielos de ceniza,

y sé que el gente en algunos lugares quieren las palabras sin queso de crema;

y el cliente tiene razón siempre.

…

Y no te engaña que no sé que solo estás fingiendo dormir;

puedo acertarlo por la sonrisa chula.

The lazy cat eye watches me.

I know what he’s telling me:

“Ticks & tocks march on while we think…

Where are the cranberries?

So much time, & still you have nothing

but words without cream cheese a’least?

No good…”

But you don’t understand, Mr. Stupid Sauron

—you ne’er have.

Sometimes words without your fattening cheese can be useful to some people;

it could be that some people prefer such simple words.

But, ‘course you wouldn’t understand this;

the only world you know is that in which you already reside.

But I, I know all the words,

from the owl forests to the heavens o’ ash,

& I know that the people in some places want words without cream cheese;

& the customer is always right.

…

& don’t delude yourself that I don’t know you’re only pretending to sleep;

I can tell by that pretty li’l smile.

Ahora literalmente tengo en las orejas basura.

Now my ears are literally full o’ garbage.

Accompanying music.

Is that chocolate syrup splayed?

Spread the fluffy iris yolk,

taste the ashes in the rain,

smashing heart ribs with 1 stroke.

I remember still your warmth,

stilled by runny April sundown,

when imaginations swarm,

when again I lose my grounds.

Still you leave your rusty stains

on my mug, which won’t go ‘way

—last month’s taste as yet remains.

Fuck writing—
phhhh!
My cat has a li’l white twinkle in his eye.

Someone put a bruise on the bridge o’ my thumb.

Not very funny…

I giggled as I practiced my “K’s”;

I won’t be needing them where I’m going.

“I’m Sorry.”

I didn’t ask
for that much coffee,
coffee pot.