Women and men are returning. They keep melding into one another. Twist into a knot. Do this fearlessly. They commit the delectable sins which later, in a collective lie, they will claim to forget. They show one another intoxicating elixirs as a sign of this secret agreement. With flushed cheeks, they decide upon a kind of lovemaking-melding that lasts until morning. Each one’s flesh expands.

Those who are forgetful enough, find one another. But still, they know that in order to erase the flesh’s memory, they must always pour more, ever more elixir into one another’s mouths.

Ribbons, arms, hair, legs, and faces that look more
and more alike… Fight in vain over a flitting fiesta.
This is the grudge held by people who’ve been bored for
months, awaiting a single day-long festival; what stiffens
the laughter on the face; what dreadfully stretches the
mouth.

This agreed-upon diffusion re-assembles in shame when
the alarm bells ring, warning all the revelers to transform!
Distressed, they return to their safe homes. Once again,
they accumulate money, children, and time. To use
later—somehow. Tirelessly, they tell one another of what’s
new. They tirelessly are, tirelessly are through—

I would have stayed, would never have left, if I believed
they’d stay this way tomorrow. If they were to build a “City
of Delicious Sins,” I’d pour blood from my nail bed onto
the mortar.

Ah! Ah! If only the city could know itself someday.

Yet I know, if I tell them they can be this way without
drinking elixirs of forgetfulness, no one will ever speak
to me again. If I suggest canceling the carnival altogether,
they’ll quickly prepare a gallows for me in the town square.
They’ll point me out to their children, I’ll be the most
hideous creature on earth. They’ll beat the children who
aren’t afraid of me—because they’re like that!

If you point out their hidden spots, they only look at your
hand, eat your finger.

This festival can’t hold me back, just as I’m about to
continue on my path toward the edge of the sea. It’s too
short a lie. If the lie had lasted a little longer, at least the
length of a brief lifetime, I might have stayed, might not
have left this place. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t even have
minded the rotting of my knowledge organ. Because a lie
worth dwelling in—you know it too—is certainly more
tolerable than a lonely journey.

Come on now, crowds! I am at ease as I go down to the edge of the sea. I know:

Foul, irascible, unpleasant gods will protect you! If you
hold them between your legs and spoil them, like this
and that!

Sow Bug

So,
You’ve seen your animals
You’ve crossed the sea, you’ve grown
You’ve come to the city, played the games. Bravo!
And, passing the crowd’s fake festival,
You’ve finally come down from the aching hills to the “edge”
You’ve managed to arrive at the edge