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Sanya Osha The Number of Water Faces
faces Faces Trombones Faces faces Strings Faces to Jerusalem And the blue water makes a
dark dithyramb. And from the ethereal ocean
of dream The echo of a sound opens its
mouth Where you can see the monster With the dragon head Dragging its slow wrath Across the dunes to Jerusalem For the great massacre of
angels Ladies Ladies Wheedling refrains of the
string Ladies The duke of death has risen
to dance On the walking sands And the moon is waving all
her limbs And the madness of the wind Is the very darkest hue And all at once the volcanoes
are splintered There on the walking sands Kaleidoscopic trombone The many colours of your
sound Back forth on off Off on back forth he trots His muscular weight too big For just about any wife And water-filled chirping of
a sparrow Ushers him on into the
infinite Expanse of organic sands That stretches on after The end of man and god Our maternal moon sheds her
azure advices And in spite of her The seeker of Jerusalem Continues to swing his great
sword In the poisoned ethereal
desert And the keys of time Begin to reverberate Like cannonballs pounding
slowly The womb of the ground And the sparrow still urges
them on Back and forth off and on Back and forth with the
imaginary maid Back and forth till we begin
to swing again And thrust into the wound With undulated wind caesuras And now you can hear The long call of the breezes Until the moon upends their
hair With her madness And the sound hasn’t
drowned us yet |
