Walking In The Parque Da Cidade Poem by L.B. Temuco

The day is hot
a sphere behind closed windows
Thoughts sweat, leaving residues of doubt
Once they were swollen like lakes in autumn
The heat rises, molecules like a Great Swan
Struggle to leave the earth
White Fluids of Everything
Something disconnecting, a fallen bough
Reality snaps the moments open
Necks uncurling, slipping along backwards,
Separate geometry of unspeakable silence
Something corporeal is ridden with maggots, rotting,
Leaving life, its turgid membranes
Withered, cracking
Lost to all pleasure now
Behind words, battalions of nothingness
March, a thousand swords
Making great bleeding holes
In the carcass of thinking
Wanting again, all that love was, all that it is
Once red and full, like a cherry
This heart opens itself to the deadness in the surrounding air,
Bursting like a heart in an abattoir, coalescing,
Gelationously melancholy, smothering, retreating from purity
There are undercurrents now, a surging rip in the tides of her
a silent sweating, coldness on private skin
Still liquid, water spreads to bathe the soul
The unrelenting beach of empty kindnesses
Walking behind others
I feel her always under the keel of my bones
Horizons tilting on the meridian of her eyes
The leopards dark gaze
This melting

The air is green.
The scratched path, a disturbance
of people walking.
But there is no movement,
Trapped in the silence of thoughts
Their own stillness
I am nothing more than these words
And the message they are
I can be nothing other than this moment
The relief of sitting undisturbed
With the sound of my heart beating freely
I am not expecting to be happier than this
Today
I am not suffering
Just endlessly curious
Changed existences
Feeling warm
Feeling close to all this

This day threatens my soul
The early morning has the sallow
Complexion of a lie
In its yellow eye I gaze at the jaundice of
Deception
What beats truly in the earth
What do I know about anything at all
A flock of birds draw the darkest shadow
Over this conspiracy
Of existence
I have no love in me than that which stays
To keep frail company with me
The love I had, awakening, the indescribable undoing
A commodity of exchange
Put back on the shelf
It will be written somewhere in
this Disquieteningness
that preciousness was first found
then lost
all between a tree and a dream
nothing ever where you want it to be
tiny feet on the earth
the patter of candy-ed ecstasy
as fingers play their tune
between the wood and the air