[Kent Johnson (Freeport/Oregon) ]
Triple X
Immolation of the second
through the swollen bud of longing,
drifting burn of the rocoto
at two of the immoral afternoon.
Glove of verging verge to verge.
Fragrant truth glanced by shock, linking
the sexual antennae
to what we are becoming, without knowing.
Cloudy fluid of maximal ablution.
Migrating calderas
that collide and splatter colossal cool
umbrae on color, fraction, beaten life,
the beaten life eternal.
Let’s not turn back. Death is that way.
Sex blood of the beloved who keens
ensorcelled, from bearing so much
for such ridiculous intent.
And the circuit-shock
between our minor day and the mammoth night,
at two of the immoral afternoon.
–César Vallejo, poem # XXX, from Trilce [translucine by Kent Johnson]
