Addressed to a dictator
        Whose object ­ unknown ­
        was to be an astronaut.

        To him, this poem
        extensive in its briefness.

         I was frightened.

        Milo Marana
        'The erotic stanza'
        

        1.

        I was telling you
        nothing you listen yet.

        I was telling you that
        the ear
        alike the one of your father.

        Yes, yes.
        That one.

        You have it even dirtier
        than the one of a skunk
        eating manure
        from the cavity of the rectum
        of
        el caballo El Zorro.

        

        2.

        Sing, sing
        don't cry.
        The Mexicans to the art
        of cleaning,
        not like the Europeans
        who have their feet
        washed by their
        wives
        only
        when
        coming into churches.

        Obvious: catholically
        appropriate.

        

        3.

        I learnt the
        knowledge
        of the dogs.

        The tongue is
        gun in any
        erogenous zone.

        The tongue is
        snake in Bethlehem's garden.
        The Greek
        wise men used the
        dirtiness to represent the chaos.

        They stored in the
        female wombs
        little Platos
        with dynamite sticks
        just next, yes, to the heart.

        The Etruscans were socialists of golden
        chamber pots.
        Nevertheless,
        they devoted themselves to greed
        of more, more, more dirtiness
        than no human being has
        ever
        conceived.

        

        4.

        caressing a
        piece of shit
        - perfect, concentric -
        I admired my
        fellows,
        the intellectualist.

        They read books
        from above
        the writings, simple
        and rough.

        They sentence the prose
        that naturally appears
        from the common people.

        The worker builds, says the common.
        They refute:
        The worker unbuilds.
        The justification: takes the chalk from the lime, two
        grams of sand and gives form to
        the concrete Adam.


        5.

        My soul is burning.

        I see the top of wastes
        that the rich disperse, they seem
        to give birth to
        death.

        My soul is burning.

        I look for your ass
        in the stake that Pliny
        inserted in
        the heart of
        Bram Stoker.

        My soul is burning.

        with the gifts
        that the excrements
        granted me, to the bread
        the convict's water.

        

        6.

        The government,
        a rubric cube.
        Colorful feast of
        six wheels.
        An Argentinean sorrow.

        The starvation was poisoning.
        forcing
        to survive to any
        price of
        the value market.

        Ceauscescu bought a
        limousine & dressed
        with Elena, lovely wife.

        Crossed huge lands
        acquired in the
        communist
        public festivity in the '66.

        Wasted years because the
        poor didn't progress
        because they didn't because
        Why?

        They were given the opportunity
        of dying unworthily
        crucified in
        reservoirs with the
        nail supplied
        by the national army.

        With the gowns that
        their mothers
        had knitted in the postwar
        childhood. second, third
        fourth, if needed !

        Ceauscescu knew
        how to control the dirtiness
        of his ears
        polished by steam.

        He compelled the scientist
        the deodorant
        in a paper packing.
        Elena licked
        the shit
        on his right teat,
        pressed by
        an American paper.

        The international hold
        he rejected.
        He believed himself victorious
        At least the conflict has
        started.

        In other places
        he was recognized dressed like
        madame prostitute.

        He sold ashes
        of executed futures.

        7.

        Crazy youth, the candies
        provided to
        the ones underneath.
        Finally !
        They cracked his encephalographic eyes:

        we are a partridge
        hunted, re-hunted,
        by that sonovabitch ruler.

        The hunting induced to a world unknown,
        the little region in trouble.

        It came as symbolic
        messages from the Yankees,
        they chose
        fifty-three basketball players to
        end up armed.

        O the Evil of him!
        Unfavorable opinion,
        little ropes in little-white collars.

        Tyro.

        The last listened by the big-ear and stinging Ceauscescu
        was the coughing voice of Compay Segundo.

        This one will be
        the history of a nation
        left out of the maps,
        outlined with the royal pliers.

Copyright © Diego Arandojo, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.