The Burning Dawn

Lying wet, the object I saw

in this red morning, on a bed made of stones.

Legs in the air, like a nympho slut,

burning and sweating poisons...

Open, cynic and cut

her womb full of exhalations.

The morning sun reflect

on this putrid womb.

As the skies looked down the carcass

the world gave back a strange choir:

chanting Satanas:

Crawling... in pestilence obscene.

The Burning Dawn rises in my eyes.

Forms were erased and nothing but a dream.

A slow outline to come on the forgotten womb,

only by a sight of memory survived

yet similar to this refuse.

Crawling... in a devotion obscene.

The Burning Dawn rises in my eyes.

Swallowed... in misery.

Cursed eternally.

O horrible infection, foul of my eyes,

vermin of nature, passion angels!

Such you will be, ô worms of life,

after thy last sacraments, mildewing among the bones.