American Bestiary. Diego Maenza

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      Nupcial poison in

      the death rattle of drunkenness.

      You howl the pain that escapes from your pores

      when you unmask your teeth

      and you feel the caress of Tánatos.

      Rain of spilled dark prisms.

      Rotten vulva that numbs the fellatio.

      Who kissed you attest your fragrance,

      but the ones you touched are dead;

      ergo, I have spoken with death.

      Narrow alleys revere you,

      mother of darkness, wife of sleep,

      sulfur lover, friend of the anthracite.

      The magnolia expels sweat from your uterus:

      breaks Ecuadorian avenues like carrion.

      You distract the young man and the old man in the same way.

      Your philosophical postulates: sex and revenge.

      Who saw you legitimize your beauty,

      but now they are clergymen or they are in the asylums;

      ergo, I've talked to the harlots.

      One night, drunk with love, I caught up with you.

      I found you black as silicon

      and I was pale as a pond

      that will reflect the moon of your sex.

      Suicide is the purest form of love.

      I belong to the mines.

      At dawn everything ends and everything begins.

      The corollary of cripples is a song of pain.

      I chew a coca leaf while I masturbate

      ruminating on the paralysis of materialism.

      I am elusive even though my cousins are gregarious

      and circulate through the streams like a swarm of hilarity.

      I have decoded their Quipus and passions,

      I have studied gold and man.

      I belong to the water

      that even washes the darkest corners:

      a miner goes by with his stinky armpits,

      it crashes its head against a very black stone.

      How to talk after the categorical closure

      if her children, young men and nymphs have not eaten?

      I do not have a neck: how to explain existentialism?

      They shiver: shout coldness; they scream: they eat hunger.

      I wear my poncho: how to believe in the God of the Sun if he leaves us?

      Like mosses: how to trust Huiracocha if there is no corn?

      I wear a hat: how to move forward if they exchange our ideas?

      I am little: human nature sucks

      as much as the nature of the gods.

      I stink, you stink, and so on to infinity.

      I am the Murik that gives the freedom

      of the transparencies that clump together after the afternoon.

      The way to salvation leads to a mine

      and they are the muriskas who let themselves be led.

      They have seen me in Cuzco, Cajamarca and Arequipa.

      The most daring ones dream of trapping me in their lands.

      I do not know if the larynx I studied yesterday belonged

      to a Bolivian or a Peruvian; I took it out intact from the Titicaca.

      They accused of stealing the tools of the miners.

      And I boast of committing more sublime pranks.

      Today I played in the navel of a pond

      and in return I gave two gold nuggets as charity.

      The blood of humanity is still dripping on the stones.

      Then I stayed in the Uku Pacha.

      The Twilight ends everything or begins everything.

      The whitish chest, iridescent hair.

      A strange albino dwarf in the midst of solid brown fosters

      propitiate the excess of the innocent.

      Lilith and Asmodeus were their ancestors.

      The staff made of branches and gold obey them.

      The glow is his friend when abandoning the moon.

      You perceive the rustling of the leaf litter and it observes you from the foliage.

      It forces you to freak out while it plays its instrument.

      It offer fruits and wild honey to your naked teens.

      If you are a young man and you like it: kiss on the mouth.

      If you are a damsel: bite in the neck.

      There are those who affirm that there is no light in heaven,

      that darkness is a ventriloquist and

      Yasy Yateré is the best interpreter of his monologues.

      There are also optimistic animals.

      They think that the genie of the flute just intoxicates

      with invention to control the masses

      of anemic creatures that are lost in the heat wave.

      Yasy Yateré attacks from the branches.

      Yasy Yateré scares toads, parrots and tapirs.

      Yasy Yateré does not take a nap.

      Some claim that I have the body of an alligator

      and the head of a man.

      I say that my thoughts are human:

      vile network of black slogans.

      Others say that I have the head of a man

      and the body of an alligator.

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