F a b r i z i o Q u e m é—

translated by Ó s c a r M o i s é s D í a z

from“Huequitos of tecno-viral poetry”

Sailor moon

Venomous techno

techno-cucarachas

-frenetic-

-narcotic-

the future was yesterday

the future is to be on the verge of anal prolapse

the future is a diagnosis

a hard addiction.

Sakura card captor turned us into tarot readers

Sailor moon turned us into cosmic whores.

The nostalgia of dancing on a neon dancefloor!

dance the tortuous past and

the chaotic present.

NO ONE

deserves our madness…

II

Pornotopia marikona

It’ll probably never arrive

no more than a distant humid and cum-filled dream.

It is the fragility of being and feeling,

the insistence, and

the restless wait in

the darkness.

Huequito what do you wait for in the dark,

In the profundity of your frustrated desires

the uneasiness eats you up?

The desperation for a caress or for an onslaught?

huequito of my stabbed heart

there are no more tears,

you’re a cactus,

a firefly that wanders about in

the desert of the suburbs…

III

Fecal Aroma

mixed with incense, poppers, and tobacco,

I want to mix all the filth of this existence,

an explosive cocktail to expand our corporal limits.

We were born to be dead,

to celebrate in a bacchanal,

debauchery, rebellion, and anal fury.

I want to be expansive,

I want to explode once and for all and

on my deathbed

I’ll continue moaning

A bitch in ecstasy

a voluptuous she-wolf

an insatiable pig

an incurable pathology

from “Little Fecal Fetus”

I

The crisis of existing…

The desire to be abducted by a UFO,

The desire of extinction…

I want to be guided by a cerberus

II

Waking up in a sick world…

My bruise on my arm is a sad, but

beautiful poem at the same time.

I set down eight coins

to buy a cheesecake,

I take it out of its paper bag and

position it on my table full of cigarette butts that I didn’t smoke.

a bit of coffee for the livid,

to calm the rancor towards the forgetful lovers.

We are replaceable,

a non-essential piece in

this pathetic recycled world.

III

All the possibilities

TORTURE

the mind.

IV

A cut D E E P

memory c-l-a-w-e-d a-w-a-y a-t

body m u t i l a t e d

V

Sometimes I write depressing things,

other times: it’s a fire

many other times it is carnal excess.

They are my three voices

my three reptile tongues

my three demons

my three furies.

VI

I have the SHARP EDGE

of a person who is

SOLITARY

from “Poems for A Marika Kapitalipsis / Marikas on an Interspecies Strike”

I

I inhabit an alleyway of solitude

together here with my plants and inanimate beings.

Yesterday echoes

the memories rumble within me,

the silence hugs and comforts me like

a lullaby.

I’m awakened by the flame of my altar,

it’s potent,

I approach sleepily

observe my deities,

to my stones and make a petition…

it’s the wild time

the chaos consumes us:

It is the beginning of regeneration.

I embrace with other crazy and sick queens,

like me.

The inner flame drives me

I connect with all my past selves,

present and uncertain future

I form a collective dialogue

a body that escapes the logics of materiality.

We make a survival plan,

a plan of revolt,

a revolt from the vegetal quietude

a silent revolt.

III

“C” asks me, after getting me pregnant twice,

if sometimes the solitude doesn’t invade me,

He’s surprised by my solitude!

I turn over, after serving myself a bit of water and

answer him:

“Sometimes I just miss coexisting with him”

And he’s surprised by the fact that a whore like me,

still knows how to love.

IV

-We are not immune to tenderness-

I tell you mentally

as if trying to establish a telepathic communication, all

the while hugging your nude body.

We are two tired bodies full of boredom but

also with lust.

I see myself reflected in your vulnerability, in your hostility towards the conventional.

V

In solitude,

I write my poems for a cactus

I regenerate myself in muteness

imagine the absurd

I turn myself in as a sacrifice to

the behemoth of the days.

.