In a Foreseeable Future
In a Foreseeable Future
In a foreseeable future that ashen child will return from the road,
will spit thirstily into the dust and will say you caretakers of dead dogs,
you guardians of singing refrigerators you watchers of shipwrecked angels,
dirty with hay do not disturb in any case my deep cosmic sleep.
Do not knock on the door of my dream with your clouded memories and deeds,
the sunset is beyond the hill the sunset and Izabel must find me beautiful,
and clean resting in the garden of the citadel covered with living ivy,
around the fountains there will still be shining the useless worn rusted weapons.
Watchful oily water in tin eaves the cosmic blue mouse,
seeker of monkish cat and that short burst of laughter piercing from under houses,
and sometimes statues that breathe in silence like living stone guardians,
the ashen child returns from the road but the road never ends.
He will spit thirstily into the dust as if the dust were his sacred altar,
and will say you caretakers of dead dogs who watch over corpses of loyalty,
you guardians of singing refrigerators who preserve frozen melodies in metal,
you watchers of shipwrecked angels dirty with cosmic hay and heavy forgetting.
Do not disturb my sleep because my sleep is more awake than your waking,
do not knock on the door of the dream with clouded memories like blind beggars of the past,
the sunset is beyond the hill but the hill is within me and the sunset illuminates me,
Izabel must find me beautiful and clean like a child who has not yet been born.
Resting in the garden of the citadel covered with ivy that grows inversely downward,
around the fountains shine useless weapons worn by time and sweet forgetting,
watchful oily water in tin eaves that weeps heavy metallic tears,
the blue mouse seeks monkish cat through hidden green parallel dimensions.
And that short burst of laughter pierces from under houses like a laugh buried alive long ago,
and sometimes statues that move when no one watches with eyes of flesh,
the ashen child returns from the road but returns before departing,
because the foreseeable future is already past and the past is still unforeseen future.
You caretakers of dead dogs who feed them with rotted memories of fidelity,
you guardians of singing refrigerators who listen to melodies frozen at minus nine,
you watchers of shipwrecked angels dirty with cosmic hay and dust of fallen stars,
do not disturb my sleep because in sleep I am more alive than you awake are.
The sunset and Izabel await me beyond the hill in the citadel's garden with ivy,
around the fountains the worn weapons shine useless like ancient sacred relics,
the watchful oily water weeps in eaves the blue mouse seeks eternally the cat,
and the short burst of laughter pierces from under houses and sometimes the statues breathe slowly in the night.
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