Everything the State says is a lie, and everything it has it has stolen.
(Friedrich Nietzsche)
On the map, the capital city black spot
isn’t there, like a hole in a golf course for God, like
an empty plate of frijoles big enough for the nation, like
the victory of some Ulysses campesinos that dared gouge the military government’s Cyclops—
& blinded, the state starts to feel the contour of their neighbors, rubbing frontier backs
and frontier bellies, and pressing border police officers against each other for love, even
with guns
Embraced the continent listens itself breathe the same way
A sweet murmur begins.