The Debt by Luiza Neto Jorge

Alive in the dagger’s instantaneous lip
in the daily arrested hour

The debts grow they’re already rough
they hurt the skin they’re already pus

The day starts out from shadows
as a people starts from dust
Hour after hour light and death coincide

The debt spreads it spreads its wings
it seizes my weak dreams everything tempts it

Behind the gesture I make
my hand is alone my fingers conspire
asymmetrically
sticking out from my body until death

I’d give them away today if I could
But what weapon can separate them from me?

While I’m thinking
the debt keeps growing

http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poet/item/4651