Hector Tito Alvares

The Birth of the Political Angel

Oceans, as if space were
apples,
the scent of oranges,
marcos naked
fields and fields of clear grey-blue,
lilac on white.
the chalk
hills and breasts filled with milk
images, blue crystal in the snow,
indians in the snow
indians in the snow
bleached, clean flakes on the white linen (original Mind)

or paint/blood
applied with the grace of the greeks;
graceful lines in the snow
gay patterns in the sun's labyrinth
upright, green stems bleeding,
his firm thigh
in the sun
how men with men are one
my loving when
well, men are as flowers,
pebbles in the stream, not boulders

when pablo as
surrendering in the snow
flowing off the white pages
coming, buttermilk dripping on tissue paper
forfeiting muscles and metal teeth
balls and power, metallic balls
shining chrome in the snow
in the powdered universe of northern lights Mts.
and opening his warmth as if space were,
every pine were his.
latino, blond, and grey eyes tender
colored shells on the cuban sand, moist.
Breath,
as with marcos breathing gently;s ians
Indians in the Alps on the north country.
blue
coming, clear brooks

blocks of sparkling ice
Lorca, crying in the snow
(como un gallo)
stalactites and stalagmites
and phalloi carved out of cave walls
ancient space for living: sculpting, painting, fucking, thinking
ancient grace of brotherly embrace
in the blanched snow
in the snow
men loving men
as if your own bodies were space enough

"Oh, words and spices are for the dead, anyway!"

(1974)