pablo

Soy como aquel que vive en el desierto

Juan Boscán, Soneto LXXIV

but where is all that wall-

paper?

Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

Playing cards

The colour doesn't matter,
black or red:
there's little choice between
heart and spade.
The important things
are the flowers and the swords;
but they stay flat,
are cardboard.


Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

This is a photograph of me

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper


Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

Against still life

if I watch
quietly enough
and long enough


Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

The people who come here also
flow: their bodies becoming
nebulous, diffused, quietly
spreading out into the air across
these interstellar sidewalks.

Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

As for us, perennial watchers,
tourists of another kind
there is nothing for us to worship

Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood

Camera (1)

walking,
sunlight knitting the leaves before our eyes
the wind empty as Sunday

Text from The Circle Game, Margaret Atwood