DIARY OF A FISH BONE

The past never was,
the future is an idiotic idea,
and the present is a salty star
melting between the rows
of the blood riddle.
 
Where did I put Tuesday,
                          Tuesday?
On the kitchen table?
Near the socks?
Among the plant boxes?
No, no, I put Tuesday
between Monday and Wednesday, not far
from Thursday.
 
Where did I forget Thursday,
                              Thursday?
 
        In the elevator?
        At the bank?
        At the pharmacy?
 
No
need
to look for
Thursday,
 
I’ve already found it
in the dream I’ll dream on Friday,
the dream of the Sabbath queen who will guard
all of us
and enfold us into her embrace.
The dream of the Sabbath queen
who will love us until we bleed
and drive us mad
without end.
 
Where did I scatter Sunday?
I’ll find crumbs of Sunday
between my legs,
on earth and in the heavens I’ll find
Sunday.
And end to anarchy, the end of life on
Sunday.
 
The past never was, the future is an idiotic idea,
and the presents sings its songs aloud
in an almost human voice:
“Rain falls, the wind blows, the sun
sets. That’s how it is.”
While the human voice says: “mouth”
a mouth in Hebrew is a mouth
a mouth in Hebrew is a mouth
a mouth in Hebrew is a mouth
a mouth in Hebrew is a snare.
And the mouth will whisper: “water”.
The word immersed in water seeks to be born, on Sunday July 10, 1988.
 
 

DIARY OF A FISH BONE