everyone here calls his absenties
his hordes his tribes
his people that break
his buried
everyone names as
do carved stones in the streambed
flint flint
everyone carves his language
in the clay of a ford
everyone names his shadows
everyone howls against the nights
everyone digs in the silence
flint flint
says a voice
look they move forward
in the flint silence they move
like men when they move as they advance
stripped warriors they are rags
they have hung their skins
to the hook of the sky
these are balloons that
snap from the shadows battlefields
everyone names or calls
convenes the voiceless
the olders who torment
ventriloquists memories
flint they desert bodies
come I come says the shadow
in the haunting memory of the body I was
I dwell appearance
I dress memory
I speak into oblivion of the flesh I was
I proceed on the stage from the wings
where we lived
I howl I
I’m only this howl
I’m the closed mouth
which comes up from the earth
weeds or
invade my teeth
my skull is a landscape
stump of hills
I clutter the absence
the disappeared mouth
the mouth ready to be born
I was a pronoun
fetid or fetus
how many are they behind the teeth
fallen into dust
How many howls and which silences
a cohort
a company
which knives are planted in the sheets
in the night – paramecium
the inhabit ants of the walls
the blowers of saltpeter
to which exodus
to which wandering are they condemned
they are hung
to the flies of the theater
birds upside down
hung to the roost
tired costumes
in the cabinet of the world
only pulsate hearts
they look like
hesitant steps
on the wood of the stage
they are without replicas
have lost
the use of the word
or they never had
access to the days pronounced by the lips
never had the words
to name
their absence