Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude

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    <strong>Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude</strong>

    The fat lady came out first,

    tearing out roots and moistening drumskins.

    The fat lady

    who turns dying octopuses i.

    The fat lady, the moons antagonist,

    was running through the streets aed buildings

    and leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in th<u></u>e ers

    and stirring up the furies of the last turies feasts

    and summoning the demon of bread through the skys -swept hills

    and filtering a longing fht <s></s>into subterraunnels.

    The graveyards, yes the graveyards

    and the sorrow of the kits buried in sand,

    the dead, pheasants and apples of another era,

    pushing it into our throat.

    There were murmuring from the jungle of vomit

    with the empty women, with hot wax children,

    with fermerees and tireless waiters

    who serve platters of salt beh harps of saliva.

    Theres no other way, my son, vomit! Theres no other way.

    Its not the vomit of hussars on the breasts of their whores,

    nor the vomit of cats that iently swallowed frogs,

    but the dead who scratch with clay hands

    on flint gates where clouds and desserts decay.

    The fat lady came first

    with the crowds from the ships, taverns, and parks.

    Vomit was delicately shaking its drums

    among <var>..</var>a few little girls of blood

    who were begging the moon for prote.

    Who could imagine my sadness?

    The look on my face was mine, but now isnt me,

    the naked look o<cite>藏书网</cite>n my face, trembling for alcohol

    and laung incredible ships

    through the anemones of the piers.

    I protect myself with this look

    that flows from waves where no dawn would go,

    I, poet without arms, lost

    in the vomiting multitude,

    with no effusive horse to shear

    the thick moss from my temples.

    The fat lady went first

    and the crowds kept looking for pharmacies

    where the bitter tropics could be found.

    Only when a flag went up and the first dogs a<tt></tt>rrived

    did the ey rush to the railings of the boardwalk.

    <strong>Federico García Lorca</strong>

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