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MATT E R S
TO NO ONE
Some Poems of
Miy Vestrini
my crime
crime of long and deep nights
vilification:
he that has written it among you may
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once dead
there was not loneliness
nor rigorous exercises
to forget
forget that the miserable people
alien
to love
love
THE POWERFUL
Without sentimentality
the powerful
Without friendliness
the powerful
Without sincerity
the powerful
Without sense
the powerful
Yes, its true
the rancid
posturing
vivisectors
asskissers
oysters
the powerful
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I hear the wind that blows near the sea, only near
I accept that flying cockroaches exist
I find that all my friends treated by psychoanalysts
[have become totally sad totally silly
I read I Ching and predict Ill have a long life
Life of shit, I say
I join the bandwagon
I throw myself under the bandwagon
I understand for a single trip how much gas is in the tank
they tell me to turn off the light
I turn it off
they ask me, Is this all right?
I get crazy
I plead for peace
they fuck with me
I fall asleep up against the bar
I hear the voice of Spanish whenever I shit on god
a guy cries beside me again
they hit me
they hit me hard
theres a full moon
I race down the mountain road
plunder the account
Dont leave me
My chest hurts,
the day is done,
the red win
rien ne va plus
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[the sea
FEAR OF DEATH
Fear of death
and look beyond it
as the moon falls
as fresh as your lips cast upon a hand on a
[crazy sunday.
Fear of death
and listen
listen as the water of it runs along
[side the house
Fear of death
when your face is resplendent under the promise
[of Abraham.
I predict your slow majestic
fall
towards the cold slab of the floor.
But dont fear:
I have learned to feel
to smell you
because when it comes to the fears of the living
I am in charge.
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DIAGNOSIS
Lets see,
open your mouth.
Say aaaah.
Show me what your mother did when you were a girl.
Was that the secret?
Oral sex?
Manipulation?
Touch?
Manipulation?
Consider your uterus,
broad and outdated.
How many children passed through there?
The doctors said
you hoped for a natural life for them.
But they just died.
And if they lived
some would have been morons
others more or less,
premeditated out of loneliness.
You have problems with your teeth,
with the slow digestion of the indecisive,
with the crunch of the occipital bone.
Youre a lot of patient.
Everyone would like to have been born in Kansas City
or in Amsterdam
or in Toronto.
Or at least
twenty years later.
Let me shake this ivory specimen.
verify the mixtures color.
Disgusting,
that bad smell.
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ARANJUEZ
Dont be ridiculous.
No one dies from holding their breath.
Think of your brittle bones,
of your sweaty folds,
of your dry vagina
and your receding hairline.
Or of your heart attack when you fake orgasm.
Women die of that.
Why you gotta be so obscene?
Because for twenty years Ive not gone to Aranjuez
and that makes me pissed.
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MOTHERS DAY
Today,
Mothers Day,
El Flaco took me to a plumbing store
to buy a stop valve.
And I asked him
You dont plan to buy a gift for your mama?
He approached,
kissed me
and answered,
Ill think about it on Monday.
We went home,
he cooked for me,
we listened to Luis Alcaraz,
Daniel Santos and Maelo.
We decided that we were test-tube babies
embryos fertilized in pigs.
That prevented further discussion.
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SNOW WHITE
Love isnt much
if you dont have anything.
today I saw Snow White
playing with her prince
and asking:
how are your savings?
how is your spirit?
do you want to grab a drink with me?
do you want to ride my wild pony?
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THE SORROW
His shirts carefully folded
and the nightstand drawer empty.
Given my sorrows size,
I read Maguerite Duras,
hostile and saccharine Marguerite Duras,
who is knitting
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BEATRIZ
With or without a dick,
there are things that cannot be done
when you start to sweat
or when the prostate hurts.
So Beatriz killed herself
at the age of fifty three.
She did not participate in the grotesque ceremony
of decadent eulogies.
She covered all the mirrors
and put satin sheets on the bed.
She was supposed to die there
neat and fragrant
ignoring the rat who bit her breath away
But she preferred the sofa
where she had fucked the night before
with a professional party boy
rented for the occasion.
She left a list
of mistakes and successes.
Writing is not important, she wrote,
and signed her name in small print,
believing it apocryphal.
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of a responsible official.
They crossed the arms over your chest
and this is fatal,
because you can not
use afrin
to breathe better.
It was fake that your hugs were convulsive
and your furies unpredictable.
Fake, the glass you burped into as if you were coating it in breadcrumbs.
Fake, your nipples, your red freckles.
Last night you decided:
if I cannot sleep,
Ill choose death.
But you could not have expected the leg of lamb to melt in your
mouth,
soft,
milky,
on your tongue .
You could only say:
two childbirths,
ten abortions,
no orgasm.
You took a long sip of wine.
Vallejo also sought a leg of lamb
in the menu of La Coupole.
All watched his stupid eyes,
while he could only think in the deaf ears of Beethoven.
He had asked his companion:
Why do not you love me?
What did I do?
Where did I fail?
The sausage in the casserole left grease stains on his shirt.
Like you,
he felt compassion fatigued his body
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la noche es tenebrosa
y no tengo a mi osa.
As I understand it, one of the few things left
is human rights upheld like a moral.
I fluff the pillow,
I lick my finger,
I hope you come El Flaco.
There are days like this.
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THE CALL
When I asked him why he had not called
he explained to me that he was buried alive
and that he did not have a phone.
In his thin chicken lips,
there is,
or was not,
any daring.
Everything was strictly legal.
Is it because I do not believe in God?
If it wasnt easy,
you wouldnt intend to do it.
Significance,
signifying,
significantly,
sign.
I went to the balcony
and looked at the park,
irritating brotherhood of screaming children
and calibrated birds.
Hear the remote control changing channels,
no sound.
No more fucks to give,
their desire to put on their pants
and leave.
I went to the kitchen to peel potatoes.
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LIZARDS
There are men
who open the covers
and enter.
Without fresh turmoil
no heat or melancholy
casting no spell
They are lizards.
Banished.
Miserable.
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GRATED CARROT
in any book,
if you can help it.
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About
Miy Vestrini was born Marie-Jos Fauvelles Ripert in France to
French parents in 1938. She emigrated to Venezuala with her mother
and her Italian stepfather, Renzo Vestrini, in 1947 when she was nine
years old. She was a rebellious student and after graduating from
high school, moved to the city of Maracaibo where she was associated with the literary group Apocalipsis and worked as a journalist.
She had ten abortions, two sons, seven suicide attempts, one death by
suicide. She published three books and left two others behind after
her death in 1991. It has been said of Miy Vestrini that she wrote the
poetry of militant death.