Jules Supervielle does not wait
for inspiration
he brings his instruments
to rediscover those things and noises
abandoned in a moment of
confusion.
Oceans of blood lap at his feet.
You cannot wait for inspiration
especially if like Supervielle
you have cardiac troubles
(as who, ultimately, does not)
you can’t wait for the
earthquake
before grabbing your hat
or learning to box
because look: you’re already in
the ring
with a monster,
a complete freak of nature.
Or is that merely a blur
in your most secret mirror? Some
smudge
attesting to the departure
of her most obscure majesty?
I would like to learn that
technique
to stay an ocean of blood
to speak with a siren, to question
her
beyond her many refusals
to be learning this art.
