When I woke, for a moment
I was driven to drink at the source
of my beloved cosmogeny,
right between her legs,
caressed by her hands;
it was then that I realized
that it was my desire to be reborn
which asked me to keep drinking,
in all the metagalactic field
of my imagination.
Then far faraway I threw
the crown of lightning holes
when I saw how the cosmogony distilled
its love through the infinite!
that was opening its palpitating eyes,
then the beloved cried with pleasure
So from every tear of its eternity
silvered stars were made!
Because they must become eternal
to seed the cosmic vaginas
with melancholy, starry.
To bathe the dreams of
humans, over there below that space...
So the Universe's own collective imagination
has to cross all the frontiers
and the Sons of the sons of the sons
will go away crying with joy.
The interstellar dust will be scattered
and nobody will be nobody ever,
so now we won't be disintegrated,
everyone will be One Alone
in the Spatial Zone.
It was finally the dreaming without dreaming;
I was waking into joy,
everything had become New
to Live! to live! to live!...
Looking into the cosmic mirror
you could see an eternal image
even if you stopped looking.
The silence... and suddenly commotion!
and again the silence of the nothing;
so that as if for relief
we would awake from the dream
of not having been, and again we would be
sobbing, shivering through the brotherhood.
All beings from all worlds and even
those which are not yet,
all sobbing in the birth
of the cosmogeny:
the memory of the infinovule fertilized in a
constellation by one of the lost
and the certainty of being and becoming here and now
for ever and ever, eternally looking backwards
and forwards to the unfathomability of the future
of the future, always...
The space of space had to expand,
to give way to new matter
and energy had to tell us its atomic discourse,
amongst the blue bells sprinkled with natural emotion,
in the part of the centre of no parts
of the bubbling universes,
pronouncers of chaos and of the shadows of my being,
that refuses the nothing but
devolving into a corner
of a metagalaxy, seized by the breasts
of the sameness of forever, the first mother of
the mothers of nature,
who watches herself absorbed in the sea number zero
of the foreseen cosmology.
Cosmogony is a bubble
that plays around my body:
she embraces me in rage and strokes
my back and shoulders, and
sleeps in my breast.
Then, watching her full eyes
I kiss her breasts and
leave a light buzzing forgotten
in her eternal pubis,
that breathes our love
Ah, inflated ego of primitive passion!
Ah, relief for those who find themselves
I remember the future
the dead stars on the way
they know nothing of yesterday,
but nevertheless they travel on
leaving the tracks of their sad light.
When I was not I
that was before the before of the first of the first before
I travelled from universe to universe, from one
embrace to another,
and swimming over the swimming in the midst
of the stellar ocean:
my body not body left its marks on
the beaches of my being
and my now dry breath was seeded from childhoods
with a sprinkling of vocal dust.
But when my heart had left my heart
and beat after beat had forgotten to laugh
the galaxies collided, intertwined and
orgasmed milk and all moistness
in the first meeting
in the far, far, far away, that I abandon.
But I return to love, like a naked child
facing the cosmography,
blue with dreams and white with hope.
So I have cleared my conscience and returned to birth
but this time when my eyes opened I did not cry.
I was not blinking, absent-minded like the orphans
of the rosy womb, and with the celestial laurels of
universal cosmovision - sweet vice
of wanting to have it all, All Again.
Because they will come to drink the quasars
mounted on the horses of the floating night
sipping it as if this galactic world was a
stranger showing himself,
(cellophane happily sad).
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