Roberto Tejada

I S [


Vulnerable therein & perfectly
relinquished by statis,

object always of my
natal, crepuscular desire,

into the translucent specter,
body’ s blue fossil

of ice, never autochthonous,
still embarked upon

the imperative passage to get
there, to secure a geography

that will beg description,
narrative map, adopted

tentatively; if only to write
the ritual book of what was possible,

but never bound to occur.

Still Life

We’ d often
been included in

the weather, whose
changes (as in the

still, portending
darknesses of after

noon) were hardly
evident, if even

manifest at all.
The August rain

over Mixcoac
& the deadening

of all aspect
at a distance:

yet our sudden
wet bodies, firm

swelling divested
finally of shirts

& trousers, left
beside turbid

footprints on
the tiled floor;

this tongue, these
lips the lightning

[When I stop to consider my calling]

When I stop to consider my calling, remark
the places a wayward temper impelled me
I’ ve found in light of where I wandered lost
the most appalling evils could have befallen;
but when I disregard the journey it’ s hard to
even fathom I endured so much affliction;
what’ s more, my days being spent, I feel I’ ve
seen my wariness go with them. I’ ll come to
my end, for I surrendered artless to someone
with the science to dispel and destroy me if
so inclined, else the know-how to want to;