Ego

i’ll search for you all over my body,
i know you inhabit me,
buried somewhere inside my ego.
if you aren’t there, you’re in the stars’ entrails and that’s the same,
it’s the language of a film you found mediocre because it was abstract,
it’s the chromatic spectrum of the grammar
you inflict on me,
it’s the agitated nerves yelling at the poem
and it’s the poem shouting back
and the words jerking down through the tendons.
i press each letter into the deepest loneliness
and the pages suffer the weight of the syllables.

© Translated by Ana Hudson, 2013


First Published on Poems From the Portuguese

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