#Alejandra Pizarnik

And at night, always, a tribe of mutilated words, looks for refuge in my throat.

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She wants to speak, but I feel what she is. She finds death love even if everything without love, is an offence to her.

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And this business of writing. I see by mirrors, in darkness. I sense a place known to no one but me. I sing of distances,

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Oh the hellish colour of my passions. Nevertheless, I remained a prisoner of the old tenderness.

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Night blindly mine. Dream of the body transparent like a glass tree. The horror of searching for your eyes in the space full

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From my desolate breathing I say: let there be language where there should be silence.

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Somebody is not enunciated. Somebody cannot attend herself. And you refused to acknowledge me when I told you what in me

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Zone of perpetual vision. I crossed in a mysterious moan.

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Things yellowed before my eyes just back from an autumn dream.

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Love draws on my eyes the desired body like a knife thrower tattooing on the wall with fear and skill the still nakedness

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who lost me in the ghostly silence of words

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the bad thing about life is that it’s not what we think, but not its opposite either.

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A café full of empty chairs, lit up to the point of exasperation, the night in the shape of absence, the sky as if made

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This spectral texture of darkness, this melody in the bones, this breath from diverse silences, this going down beneath ground,...

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If only I could always live in ecstasy, making the body of the poem with my body, rescuing every phrase with my days and weeks,...

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I write against fear. Against the clawed wind dwelling on my breath.

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embracing your shadow in a dream my bones arched like flowers.

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beware the words (she said) they have a sharp edge they’ll cut your tongue off beware they’ll drown you

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I write with eyes shut, I write with eyes open: let the wall collapse, let the wall turn river.

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Silence, always silence, the gold coins of sleep.

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What does it mean to translate oneself into words ? And long term projects of perfection; daily measuring the probable

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Something was falling into silence. My last word was I but I meant luminous dawn.

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Every hour, every day, I prefer not to speak. Everyone a wax figure and I most of all, who am more other than they. All

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My endless fall into my endless fall where nobody waited for me for when I looked at who awaited me I saw nothing but myself.

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