So much singing from machines, transports
And transplants.
The most varied changes in status, infection,
Sex, age.
They carry with them recycled bowels,
Kidneys made of the finest and most fragile
Filigree,
Crystal bones, delicate crystallines
Of the utmost polished marble.
And the nerve structure in its monitored tracks,
Its sounds’ matted patchwork,
All this ebullience of fear
Transmutes
Into vapours of the cruel expression of
Molecular, cellular, histaminic
Calculation.
We are
The old models of the emoted,
Thoughtful flesh.
We are what is left of a God’s
Painful pattern,
Clumsy creatures, who can’t even die
And laugh with the words generated
Between the burdens of blood
And pleasure.
Hail, o mobile, disenchanted bodies, redeemed
By such a nature which in another space announces
Life at born-again speed,
Freed from its eggs, its original nurses,
Its sacred mourners,
Its primordial sound, from the ending
Of this lyric song.