She was young once

After Keko Prijatelj’s “It’s not her fault”

She was Carole Bouquet and she
Was Angela Molina

She is Fernando Rey

Her skin is a peach in the sun
Plucked

Wrinkles tremble a mantra
Rabble rumble roar

And by sheer magic
The worms inside turn into
Butterflies flutter off to another field

Calling

No, the skies don’t falter because of an artist
The artist falters
If he thinks that
The skies don’t falter because of an artist

And he knows, theories are photographs
Of a landscape
Sculpted by time
So many photos in mint condition

He doesn’t know but to delve into the landscape
Falter to the cave
Salute the bear
Punch him hug and pinch, until the bear’s claw frees

Sweet red beauty crimson ecstasy transcends into purpure
The bear squeezes and squirts all out
Onto nearby photographers
The artist will chirp: Skies, take this sacrifice as your own blood

It’s not her fault

Theory was a toy built
Between beatings and preachings

Theory is a toy bought
On a boring afternoon

Theory smirks at Theory

Theory smirks at Theory enviously
Theory smirks at Theory’s grave

At midnight, Theory’s afraid and
Timidly asks for Theory’s advice

Unable to hear her, she digs up the bones
Tries to assemble a golem
In vain. Threatening

Death never opened its mouth
Onto her

Her skin is a peach in the sun
Plucked