I didn’t ask
for that much coffee,
coffee pot.

Te cuento del videojuego le me cantó el sueño:

había tumbas sombrías que estiraban debajo por kilómetros,

que tenían una sala con un ataúd

donde descansaba alguien venerado.

Todo era frambuestas

hasta que alguien le saqué un foto

(sacar fotos con una cámera era una abilidad que tenía la protagonista;

es probable que tuviera que desbloquearlo,

y probablemente lo usara solo para lograr 100%).

Después, los turistas infestaron,

y llenaron con basura la sala

y cubieron con grafiti el ataúd

(incluso la música que toca con regularidad el juego

fue substituido por silencia;

supongo que hiciera para el efecto dramático más que nada más).

Los ciudadanos

(que no eran humanos, pero monstruos abigarrados)

eran geniales no más;

ahora, como enemigos, estuvieron enojados

y atacarían la protagonista cualquiera la vieran.

I’ll tell you ‘bout a video game told to me in a dream:

there were shadowy tombs stretching kilometers below,

which had a chamber with a coffin,

where rested a venerated figure.

All was raspberries

till someone took a photo

(taking photos with a camera was an ability that the hero had;

‘twas probably something one had to unlock,

& was probably useful only for 100% completion).

Afterward, the tourists swarmed,

& filled the room with garbage

& covered the coffin with graffiti

(also, the music the game usually played

was replaced by silence;

I guess this was done mo’ for dramatic effect than anything else).

The citizens

(who weren’t humans, but colorful monsters)

were friendly no mo’;

now, like enemies, they were angry

& would attack the hero whenever they were seen.

Rain, rain, come again;
go away another day—
Pip-pip-pip-pip-pip.

See, e’en George Washington says I should kill myself.

Aún temo permitirlos saber a otros que uso una lápiz de PaperMate^®.

I’m e’en ‘fraid to let people know I use a PaperMate^® pencil.

Accompanying music.

Bloody eye o’ Zero, were

I as steadfast as thou aren’t

in your purple milky blur,

my unbeatable broken heart,

sickle cutting through the leaves,

cut through by our shadows, yet

that don’t mold your curdled cheese—

not a clot: your veins stay fed.

I arrived each hour last night

—or this morn—so that I might

see you flush, but you were pale white.

That’s why I shattered every mirror.

Spaghetti falls—
Splut.
No arm tears now—
solo me río.

Accompanying music.

Some will say you hide the sun;

I say that the sun hides you.

Clean as cream or stained with mud,

mixed with every hue o’ blue,

you find comfy every season,

mixing with both sun & rain;

bubble me from earthly treason:

pillow me in dreams away.

Then the billows all turn gray,

lullabies turn into shakes—

1 last thunder ‘fore my wake.

I truly hope

you’ll give my scraps o’ trash a warm home.