Ego
i’ll search for you all over my body, i know you inhabit me, buried somewhere inside my ego. if you aren’t there, you’re in the stars’ entrails and that’s the same, it’s the language of a film you found mediocre because it was abstract, it’s the chromatic spectrum of the grammar you inflict on me, it’s the agitated nerves yelling at the poem and it’s the poem shouting back and the words jerking down through the tendons. i press each letter into the deepest loneliness and the pages suffer the weight of the syllables. © Translated by Ana Hudson, 2013 First Published on Poems From the Portuguese