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from the November 2011 issue

From the Grave of My Grave

from the grave of my grave
a hollow-now open advancing
my love, her stairs
her name, her signs
advancing the same.
with my brother
the vine and its roots
here and there.
pretends to not be dead.
shoe and cloud are
bubble and hand
bright catapult
direct detour
never adorned
with sharp presences.
the grave of my grave
and so coincidence
stalker-yesterday says slowly
my death has not begun
(a mistake)
the insects wove their net
and destroys it
the grave of his grave
left only a grave
walled in and everything
was fucked.
adjusts his thorns
they stop him
surround him close
take away the east
pluck him
foamless, for me
my lover rubbed
him into her skin
he’ll stay in my pupil
like a closed point.
tomorrow stalker—yesterday
single claw
without coat—picture—pot
was tiger claw.
that of the picture, we delve,
a simple image; for example,
asses (if they let me),
don’t rest;
they lack border and prayer
here and there they feel
almost like close at home
a casual thing for them
of import and perennial
with cheap pictures
and artificial discs
in relief.
the image of the image
of the image
won’t stop again;
its walls don’t foresee
the leak,
nor feel it,
nor expect it.
stalker—yesterday smug
but tomorrow is the product
of distant barking
of yesterday—brother—mother
hollow—now immense
mountain with two faces
and highest hive.

Translation of “[desde la tumba de mi tumba].” From Rendijas (Editorial de la Universidad de Puerto Rico, 2001). © 2011 by José María Lima. By arrangement with the publisher. Translation © 2011 by Erica Mena. All rights reserved.

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