a kind of record

I.

we all looked and could see nothing

what are we supposed to see

what are we supposed to see

the inexhaustible

the inexhaustible

horizon

 

torn from our hands

Valéry said

I cannot repeat

don’t be so dramatic

the sun fell

in time

the sun fell

 

we spoke of things

one spoke

in the dark

outside

another answered

Valéry

you have to answer for

you have to answer for

him

 

do you have the answer

hidden

in a fold of skin

hidden

between your lips

hiding

behind

the everyday

 

around him

grew the desert

the desert grew

and every day

there

there you are

knots in his fingers

his whole rag head

rag and jag

Buster was not his name

Buster she said

was not his name

 

she whispers

come here

wraps you

wraps you

in grease proof paper

and she wraps you

there you are

well at dawn

there you lie

tied up with a string

a prayer

you cannot answer for

 

II.

she said

I’m going to talk to you quite openly

and she

apologised for her vulgarity

 

is there a way onward

Juana

by Gamboa

the western cordillero

 

a patch of vomit

made up of the lights

of Bogotá

 

cupped in the hands

of a thousand digits

 

figures of bone

walk the western

horizon

 

still recognisable

moving without acknowledgement

you are watching

 

relations of yours

I ask

 

you trap me in fucking

you trap me

we shut up

we know

 

the identity

we need to show

indifference to