Papasquiaro’s “Advice from 1 Disciple of Marx to 1 Heidegger fanatic”

& the finely crafted assault /

if you only manage to gulp & make faces

when that character from Ionesco––perhaps obsessed with the bald soprano––

asks you the first chance he gets: are you sexual political

                                        fundamentally satisfied?

& what’s the use of getting to know the dew the gardenia expels

                        in the misty dawn

as much by the sweat of your brow as the palm of your hand

as the pelvis––delicious––of the girl

that’s the relief of your map              

                            & the compass that keeps your territory standing

what’s the use if there are lives that are cars with no engines

                desperately honking their horns

                                without being able to go

the life of the 1 who cures his Saturday hangover by rinsing his eyes

                                        at the edges of fountains

that of the high-class lady with her Chantilly cream & candy-cane hairdo

& her intolerable little voice when says I smoke by own

                that whole race of sanctimonious reactionaries

                                who feel offended

                by the every day more frequent contact with the riff-raff

                                between the soot & the sullen sun of the cities

& the life of that vagabond (the 1 word has it isn’t missing)

whose lucidity is shattered / without his bicycle

                having chased any light in the Sierra Tarahumara

like his homonym Antonin Artaud

the life of the 1 who thinks too much to kiss 1 flower

                                                                                    to light 1 cigarette

to say to his beloved: let’s go to 1 hotel / let’s blow up the moon’s

                potato-white face

that of the scatterbrained bureaucrat / who screws up & more than 1 or 2 times

the 1 who’ll have the same soap-opera face

                                ––feeling sorry for itself––

the next time he passes by here

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