D, what must have been on your mind?
Your copious crazy,
Your stringy figures.
My body model to your brain that’s mine.
I find it weird you and I both exist,
Or once did.
D, what must you have been thinking?
Your magical madness,
Your artistic precision.
Choose to refute our every day vision,
Enrich it with your satirical composition.
How must you have hearted the world?
How it beats here today.
Irregular as my rhythm now,
On purpose, I must say.
Help me channel the chambers of your tomb,
The way you represented so much more beautiful.
Wish I could sing you back to life,
But life is what it is;
Your temple will burn in the end.
Yet for now my impure singing
Will set out to save it for the world to see –
A ticket to Figueres
Is hidden underneath this scribble,
For those who read between the letters.
This crusty beard of mine
Will never take of Velasquez.
Is that what you ask us
When we look through your glasses?
D, take me away
To your far-stretched, distant horizon.
Take me to your soul
As it lies on a bed of wires,
On the fringe of being sliced into pieces.
You are ill, and you will have to be treated.
D, will you let me take you to a place?
It is our turn now.
You have created a nest,
And we is the mindless fetuses,
Searching for mindlessness.