Carlos Ramírez Vuelvas - FEVER (THURSDAY)

The woman
now master has for me
the most perfect hatred
While passing noise and stir
walls and dogs
I wet the garden look undressing
sleep routine day
Falls to bed much of the night
and my ears still hear claims
the redoubling of hatred that comes to fall apart
The dirty day raises his arms and morning
daily appears again on the tablecloths
white with excruciating mantle
of chips on the table
I look again at the woman
between his teeth polished gold
glow of hatred against me
Then I touch with the body
I keep in anger for her
that is for us:
the swarm of rancor makes us
different? Who molded
in my hands this injury and threat
Still flashes
memory to recall the confusion
your legs with my pain?