Even long after my death
Long after your death
I want to torture you.
I want the thought of me
to coil around your body like a serpent of fire
without burning you.
I want to see you lost, asphyxiated, wander
in the murky haze; woven by my desires.
For you, I want long sleepless nights
filled by the roaring tom-tom of storms
Far away, invisible, unknown.
Then, I want the nostalgia of my presence; to paralyze you.
Maria Martins, Poem for Marcel Duchamp, 1945
