what am I to do with it?

(Akhmatova, Mayakovsky, Voznesensky,

Pasternak, Khlebnikov, Mandestam, Pasternak)

by Roberto Lavidez

these days

we’ve got

to take

brass

knuckles

and split

the world’s

skull open

in everything

I feel like

reaching

straight

to the

heart

of the

matter

dreams

are a harm

and it’s

useless to

fantasize

like a

burden

henceforth

superfluous

the shadows

of songs

and passions

have

disappeared

through the

silence

sails

a soundless

chorus of

midnight

birds

I want

to go home

to the

enormity

of the

apartment

that inspires

sadness

a body

is given

to me

what am  I

to do

with it

so whole

and so

much

mine?

to leave the

handwriting

of my dust

on the stern

windows

like an

inmate’s

autograph

what are you?

what?!

you look

with longing

into books

through 

windows

but where

are you

there?

I would

have laid

out

verses

like a

garden

trembling

in all their

veins

streets

are our

paintbrushes

public squares

our palettes

you think

on the

cheeks of

the café

it’s the sun

that lovingly

caresses

love

love

love

madly love

love itself

as the

windows

dissolve

into the

garden

and suck

in the lilac

©robertolavidez2014