Sunday, December 28, 2014

tomaz salumun

Yesterday I saw the feathers of Montezuma
and how he longed for his ruin, for some foreign
god to drink up his soul. The Empire is eternal.
Eternal are the mirrors. The water evaporates,
only the gaze remains. Who hoards it up?
A chariot with a golden shaft –
I’m not that yellow fruit.
I’m not that mob staggering from the Coronation.
I ate the ticket to the Anthropological Museum
while I spoke to a tourist,
while I kept looking at you.

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