![\"\"](\"http:\/\/alexhernandez.es\/images\/cow3.gif\")
<\/p>\nChameleon-like<\/h4>\n
I\u2019m flattered that you, woman,
\nflew your way here in freedom,
\nspontaneous, with no orders;
\nnow dark, now white,
\nchameleon-like,
\nsick now, now blue,
\nnow blue, no more;
\nbut so\u2019s our female
\nnature, and so are us!<\/p>\n
In swirl and change, don\u2019t rush!
\nStare instead and suck the moment in.
\nDo as you will! Do as you will!
\nAnd don\u2019t betray your skin
\nif sometimes blue comes back –<\/p>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n just let it pass, my friend, and go ahead!<\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at “Die Freuden<\/a>“<\/i> (1827) I wasn\u2019t born At the mountain where <\/a><\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at 2 poems I entered a lonely R.E.M. The dream unraveled mid-air <\/a><\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at “Milito<\/a>“<\/i> by Penka Batoewa.<\/span><\/p>\n The circle is the shape that can’t escape Twelve months loop ’round forever, The backdoors are blown open with a bang, Man looks around and wonders <\/a><\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at “De relativiteit van Escher <\/a>“<\/i> (2007) I\u2019ll find a new land, look up, head North, <\/a><\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at “Dalkarlas\u00e5ng<\/a>“<\/i> (1859) by Otto Lindblad.<\/span><\/p>\n Black. Three-legged. <\/a><\/p>\n Lavaca mooed back at a whole recital for piano and bariton Masses are asking Before the nerve gets cut
\nby Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.<\/span><\/p>\nMumtain<\/h4>\n
\nout of nothing, of everything
\nin general.
\nMy specific conception was warm,
\nand soft, and painful.<\/p>\n
\nmum was slaughtered
\nunceremoniously,
\nI stop for a second
\nstaring at trains, holding a tear.<\/p>\n
\nfrom the “Manyoushuu”<\/i> anthology (ca. 759):
\nnumber 352<\/a> by Sami Mansei and number 208<\/a>, anonymous.<\/span><\/p>\nDarkness unchained<\/h4>\n
\nby a river of sunset
\nwhen darkness unchained
\nrose before my eyes
\nlike an army of ants
\ncovering the earth with oily razors,
\nblinding mothers who searched for their child
\nbut saw nothing but the moon.<\/p>\n
\nlike the instant drawing of a thousand arrows
\nand I woke up at once a thousand mornings
\nwith a thousand bad dreams laid out to dry
\nby a river of sunset.<\/p>\nRelativity according to Escher<\/h4>\n
\nthe trap of its own history and follows its fate
\nin blind determination. Ruins are
\nthe repetition of a kiss from time.<\/p>\n
\nlike night rides the back of day
\nwith reins to its own mouth.
\nEmbers grow cold as the room warms up.<\/p>\n
\nthe void is left behind.<\/p>\n
\nwhat it means, or where it all began
\nas if it mattered, whereas the theory goes
\nwe’ll reach the starting point simply by waiting.<\/p>\n
\nby Michel Krott.<\/span><\/p>\nMigrate<\/h4>\n
\naway from the rich warm Southern borders
\nwhere men carefully listen to echoes from afore
\nor actually do bear the saddlebags of others;
\nor scourge their sinful heads and enjoy their acts,
\nor pile up hate for brothers counting fact after fact:
\nthe inherited land, the inherited land
\nI\u2019m leaving it behind, I\u2019m leaving it behind!
\nOr did I get that land trapped beneath my hooves,
\nto carry around, around wherever I might move?<\/p>\nLiederabend (Evening song)<\/h4>\n
\nStrong. Tense with a thousand nerves,
\nheadless, your head is
\na human on a stool,
\nyour teeth are shaking and falling
\napart, old thing, and yet
\nyour mouth opens
\nin a tongueless yawn and sings
\nof greener days and golden suns.
\nTonight, the sky is not the colour
\nof the sea, not the colour of your
\nbright low eyes, tonight the sky
\nis velvet blue, a curtain
\nto drape around your coffin,
\nold bull, to wear around your neck
\nwhen you venture out under the snow
\nto see your resting place,
\nto check it’s fit
\nand plant a seed nearby
\nso you’ll have something to look at
\nwhile awaiting resurrection.
\nWill you come back, my dear,
\nas a red flower? Will you
\ncome back at all?
\nShould I follow the seed to the tree
\nto the saw to the truck to the world,
\nand search every shop window
\nto find your smell under the paint
\nof the finest B\u00f6sendorfer?
\nI might die myself,
\ndear bull, you know,
\nbefore I ever found you.
\nAge is catching up with me,
\nwith all of us, not only with the old.
\nI can’t distinguish youthfulness
\nfrom Tuesdays anymore.
\nMute as I’ve become, hairless,
\nalmost skinless -can’t tell my flesh from meat-,
\nI stick to this image from twenty years ago
\nwhen you and I had everything to learn
\nand would do so.
\nThe two of us alone under the spotlight,
\ndazzling a whole flock of spectators
\n-only two ties onstage:
\nto life, and to each other,
\nand age, my love,
\nis catching up with both.<\/p>\n
\nat Oper Frankfurt<\/a> on December 2nd, 2008.
\nThe program<\/a> included works by Robert Schumann<\/a>,
\nHugo Wolf<\/a> and Franz Schubert<\/a>.<\/span><\/p>\nDeepblack<\/h4>\n
\nhow deep inside
\nI feel the knife before I break<\/p>\n
\nin half. And I become the darkness.
\nYou eat, your greasy soul
\nis ever impossible to wash.<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"http:\/\/alexhernandez.es\/images\/animalprint2_wp.jpg\")
","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"