I turn my back and laugh
at the corpse of the day
with a knife in his back,
a smile on his face.
the eunuchs of my memory
slumped and lifeless;
they tried to pin the deed on me.
I have no time for these stragglers,
their parrot-like recriminations
that keep me here
in the sun’s dead temples.
There are thunderstorms,
horizon devouring winds,
that will forgive me this violence;
for they ready me for a pure and
It was necessary to become
the self’s inexorable assassin,
to put these enemies of my purpose to rest.
On the other side,
I will be essential dust
in no man’s night.