Three Poems by Marduk

THE CITY is boiling,
beasts aggrieve with water mist,
they lurk,
they lie in wait for the mob’s shadows.

Then I set the table,
we sit down
and we get along as if this was the last time.

The nightly swipe doesn’t forgive anyone
neither in the wagons,
nor in the cupboard,
nor among high, gray sentinels,

We are not safe anywhere anymore.

……………………………………………………………

THE ASPHALT'S smell between my temples
the journey’s slithering through the vertebrae,
a roar
like the one statues make when they crush
are
a wasted reflection
of which won’t happen again.

……………………………………………………………

I WILL not wait for a firefly’s pulse,
like the streets of this map
in which things are packed and scattered in comets,
neither will I look for a sign of repudiation among the tracks
for every image of the past is tricky.

I will not talk,
I won’t say anything,
and my silence will be a protest,
it will wash itself black up to the celestial page,
it will get your ankles-whirlpool wet
it will say about frontiers:
ship’s traces
in cartographic plan.

(trans. by Aurelio Meza)

We don't know who Marduk is. We just know it is a pseudonym for a young Mexican poet, who has published his texts in some literary blogs, but that's it. Any useful information will be rewarded.