I want to say so much and I freeze

I want to write, but out comes foam,
I want to say so much and I freeze;
there is no spoken cipher which is not a sum,
there is no written pyramid, without a core.

I want to write, but I feel like a puma;
I want to laurel myself, but I stew in onions.
There is no spoken cough, which doesn’t end in mist,
there is no god nor son of god, without unfolding.

Let’s go, then, through this, and eat grass,
the flesh of sobbing, the fruit of groaning,
our melancholy soul preserved in jam.

Let’s go! Let’s go! I’m wounded;
let’s go drink that already drunk,
let’s go, raven, and fecundate your rock.

[César Vallejo, ‘Intensity and Height,’ in The Complete Posthumous Poetry]