The Black Cup
(For Spanish translation click here)

The night is a cup of evil. A police whistle

cuts across it, like a vibrating pin.

Trampy woman, listen, how is it if you’ve gone away,

the wave is still black and still makes me flare up?

The Earth holds edges of a coffin in the shadows.

Trampy woman, listen, please don’t come back.

My flesh swims, swims

in the cup of darkness that still makes me feel pain;

my flesh swims in there

as in a swampy heart of a woman.

Starlike coal . . . I’ve felt

dry touches of clays

over my transparent lotus.

Ah, woman. The flesh of instinct

exists for and within you. Ah, woman!

Because of this, oh black chalice! even when you’re gone,

I smother in dust,

and other desires to drink start pawing inside my flesh.