DAY BLEEDING RAIN
Oh day, bleeding rain,
what are you doing in the soul of the abandoned,
day bleeding volition only barely glimpsed:
behind the reed curtain, in the mire,
with your toes sized up in pain
like a small shivering animal:
but you’re not small and you’re shivering from pleasure,
day cloaked in the might of volition,
frozen stiff in a mire that’s maybe not
of this world, barefoot in the middle of the dream that works its way
from our hearts toward our necessities,
from fury towards desire: curtain of reeds
that opens itself and dirties us and embraces us.
Roberto Bolaño, The Romantic Dogs, trans. by Laura Healy (London: Picador, 2011), 15.
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