You’re more free of natural laws.
Not a stray wild animal, that is more
what I see in the water:
red eyes, lips chewed to bits and
looking away, always looking away.
Just grab a flame and come hunting,
stuff me in your trap and beg me
to leave my home behind:
bunch of home-made
branches, earth, droppings,
remnants of broken
men, our children hiding high
in trees (or hidden away?)
With a branch I draw an arrow in the air
towards leaves under toes,
present myself a-straddle and
feel the roots on fingertips.
The ants see a nest in me.
You remain someone without laws,
take off your clothes, blow
the insects away and spit between my legs.
I growl and look nowhere.
Vertaald door Paul Vincent