Two Mistranslations: The Dream and the Lie

El Sueño y La Mentiro de Franco... or ... The Dream and the Lie of Frailty
The Dream and the Lie of Franco

fandango of cabbages or was it who? who? ceviche of false clues
shampoo girl make mine stiff in the middle-aged frying pan
staring flirtatiously--posed on the suit of armor voucher of a shelter for cattle
fresh maize of his hit with a hammer yoke--mouth full of
oozing beef odds and ends--ineffectual tolling for thee prostate
of snap out of it braiding intestinal--pinkie extended although grandiose
north figure formed by two lines--Red Skelton of hairpieces badly dyed and woven
--made in Paris by refugees--Vesuvius of courtesans entombed
in liquid paper and bigger tears--on his lamb chop the closet stuffed with old suits
and with moths--sagebrush equine the comic book
that spurs the
sleeping nag in the wingspan and the horse feathers ruffling
in solar prominence while the horseflies that bite at the rump of the
nest egg with no visible mother the shoot up eyeballs--Minotaur teaming with lice
where the bitch full of rats tails and the lattice of the birth of Christ
matriarchal age--bacon strips in the pan curling in the red
roux of spilt milk in the droplets of blood that spurt
--theatrical mannerisms under heavy makeup bound to a maudlin few
by guts and bile that covers in rage the quotidian waltz of grief--implosion
in grave numbers highborn highborn of the least well known of the slip-ons
see the lovers fallen from flight rolling in their lurid web of drugs and
smack water of quinine and cotton that veils the lids of the leather
masque--blinding until no reflection shines that yields to
mimicry and pickled tongues in ambivalent ardor lick the lobes
of that forgotten wound--cries the little ones cries the rising from oppression cries the flies
cries of twigs cries of dried leaves and crumpled paper cries of cellophane cries of
snare drums of trumpet mutes of music stands of pans of forks and of dishrags
cries of chin stubble that grows in on itself cries of body odor singing in the dark
of the cries that crack the fry pan and of the tornado of yellow jackets
that uproots the lilies that shreds the flesh and tears out the finger nails
clawing at the thatch that the rain drenches overhead
that the gift return and the pocketknife reveal by the sound a jaw
makes when it breaks