Quasi-scientific weirdness about Venus, Sirius, & maybe reptilian space colonists.


‘XII

I escape from a feint, fluf for fluf.
A projectile I know not where it will fall.
Incertitude. Tramontation. Cervical articulation.

Zap of a horsefly that dies
in mid-air and drops to earth.
What would Newton say now?
But, naturally, you’re all sons.

Incertitude. Heels that don’t spin.
The knotted page, factures
five thorns on one side
and five on the other. Ssh! Here it comes.’

Cesar Vallejo, Trilce (tr C Eshleman, 1992)