As coy as “made simple” or as “no.” Internal
dive into the con. “Simple.” “Better.” “New.”
Videos romp in silence. Damn noise, easily written.
Stay sober. Repair the place. Poor vases.
Vogue. Can sad aches repeat in sad lament?
OK. Another sign: agua. Vivid outer
voices. Core oppressed, atrophied, loaded out senseless.
Phrases come in sequence: Check him. Maze.
Depressed. Chemo. Drugs. Supposed to be simple.
Come, air. Keys. A pair has scored.
Enter us. Dead. Incant our loss. Procure
unlined night. No horizon—oasis.
Coitus—submit like lambs, rams.
O, souls, merge. Numbers rigged as new ones.
Is this coyness that passes? a quandary? or venting
of vice? Is it at last quiet in tame slumber? Come
see as Tivo sees—video to ruin the choice. Not
videos, not visions—pages you wrote.
Day 23’s prompt from NaPoWriMo was to take a poem in a language you don’t know and “translate” it by sound. This is an interesting one. I went through a very literal “sound translation” then a couple more iterations trying to turn it into something that made a modicum of sense. Here’s the original “Poema” from Nuno Júdice.