As in the moon is the endless night
And in the sun the infinite flame
The morning glories in a birdsong
And all the shadows in hell
So in my prayer is the plead
To the poet and the devil
“Make a rhyme! Set a fire!”
As in my blood flows ferrous magic
And in my howl demonic rage

born in bundles
under hooks and clamps
in the damp dark
in the hard lack

what agony distorts
the music in the hall
echoes of roars
laments through the walls

riding to the abattoir
with moist protruding eyes
a fox and a baby ox
wearing our finest coats

la luna tiene la intención
entre las cortinas de gasa
de tocar mi habitación

desliza su brazo largo
buscando my pezón
perla que conduce al corazón

de mi carne mortal
no puede deshacerse
su rayo albo polvoroso

sola en la galaxia mengua
y en la tierra los lobos escuchan
cuando la luna aúlla

Is it soft, or bouncy? A disc or a balloon?

Crescent, cold, and planetary. I think I am the moon.

living in the walls
creatures gelatinous
thronging the corridors
rising at night
I cannot see the end
only darkness and depth
under the floorboards a grave
direct passage to hell

of the flesh
that has been severed
spills a soul
blood and bone
were the womb
where stays soft
yet past nine months
it rots
one might find
tendons torn
dragging a child
back home

my mother never cried
her eyes she emptied of their water
so she wouldn't drown

she was a poetess yesterday
and a beast the night I was born
there was no milk left on her *******
only vinegar and blood

she strikes me just to hear the sound
my mouth a shape she cannot recognize
her fingers are hooks
sunk in my cheeks, my thighs, my spine

her anger lodged in my throat
as I try her dresses and twirl in the room
to keep her burdensome corpse company
until the coroner comes
I'll tell them she's just taking a nap

I can't explain the rot, it's been there all her life