As the rats dance mazurka
listen to the radio
and open this bottle
as the lions yawn in the night
I listen
as the ants climb on my feet
I breathe slowly
as the roaches copulate in the corners
I watch them
as the drunkards scream in the street
I spit through the window
as the painter draws gently
I imagine his wife
as I remember my mother
I cry
as the night continue slowly
I stop
sometimes there’s no abstraction
there’s nothing at all
I listen to the news from the radio:
two little girls are sodomized and
killed
as the rats dance mazurka
I die slowly dead
but alive,
more than
ever.
