Bruises

It starts with my fingers
Sliding imprecise through the velvet
Light brown, tones of yellow
Sometimes gray
Rarely reddish

This grass used to shine
golden, reflecting the sun
Now just pure darkness
And sick on all its roots
Taaaaaaaaaallow

All of them

How to distinguish
The scratch
The cut
The squeeze
The knife
The fire
The nail
The blood
The drive?

I remember the satin
The natural perfect shapes
I used to feel the pleasure
oil, scent, softness
All the covering
The beautiful outside

After the wind
What else can come?
What comes below the ground?
What’s hidden inside?

Something dirt, sure
Something that should be extirpated
Urgently
There is no time to wait
It has to be now
It has to be me

…

Blood is so beautiful
But not that one
That one is spotted

I dig, dig, dig, dig, dig
dig dig, deeper, deeper,
digging deeper
until there is no deeper to dig
It’s never deep enough
And although I have the feeling
That I caught something
That I got to the core
It always, A-L-W-A-Y-S beats me
There’s always one last root left
The seed to the next one
That’s the moment it starts
So, it never really ends

I’m sitting
Closing my fists
as an urge to control
The nails meeting violently
The hand palm flesh

When finally
I feel able not to make it
I start new starts

Ripping glades
In the Black Forest
Opening passage
In the Red Sea
Making rise
Two black hole suns

Tips of bones
They laugh as infant horns
Still making fun
Of my lack of control

The dust in the beans
The dirt in the duct
The white in the cave

The one that attacked my feminility
My sexuality
My love
And my future

That bruise that never goes away
No metter how many times
I lie on that divan

Nature is persistent
Insists to mend
fix, regenerate

Absolutely imperfect
And exactly for this reason
[Monumental] and ordinary
With the same acuteness

Even with the diverse colours
With the infections
The bacteria fighting
Battles for conquering
Parts of this body
As long as I am standing
And writing
Let’s say I am winning