COMIENDO POESÍA
Fluye tinta de las comisuras de mi boca.
No hay felicidad igual a la mía.
He comido poesía.
La bibliotecaria no puede creer lo que ve.
Sus ojos están tristes
y camina con las manos ocultas en su vestido.
Ya no están los poemas.
Es tenue la luz.
Los perros suben por las escaleras del sótano.
Sus pupilas en blanco,
sus patas rubias ardiendo como leños.
La pobre mujer patea y solloza.
Ella no entiende.
Cuando me arrodillo y lamo su mano,
grita.
Soy un hombre nuevo.
Le gruño, le ladro.
Salto alegremente en la libresca oscuridad.
EATING POETRY
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
EATING POETRY
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.
I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
from Selected Poems
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