Sexperience

Have you ever experienced poetry
Not as words disposed in verses
But as birds worshipped with nerves
And observed in their soft flight
Across dark skies during night?

Have you ever felt a full moon?
A bright square star full of shine
That feeds your soul while it croons
The softiest song of all the world
With notes that borns tight and dies curled...?


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Farewell

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt's expiring eye,
Are in that word - Farewell! - Farewell!

These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne'er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain,
Though grief and passion there rebel:
I only know we loved in vain -
I only feel - Farewell! - Farewell!

Lord Byron.


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Bed beast

A voracious appetite
Mastered all my mind and senses
Through the fire where she dances
In the shadows of the night


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Sculpture bidimensional

The image sculptor stood by the road
holding his chisel and looking around
trying to find something worthy
of his divine efforts.

The dawn approached
stealing our luxuries
and Babylon was slowly sliding
from the face of the earth.

This man all by himself
can give divine birth
and make eternal
the cigar I smoke.
Light into stone,
shadows and colors,
nothing can escape from the touch
of the sculptor.


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Arata

Walking through the street
he looks at everyone
for so his eye can meet
the special one.

With a camera in his hand
in such a camaraderie
he comes with no friend
alone and free.




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Hole blessing

She's on her knees
religiously
every day
, as if to pray,
but she'd rather go
to hell... She blows.


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Divine message

Each day you pass by sober
you grow less wise and much older.

(a cada dia que se passa sóbrio
você fica mais velho e menos sábio.)


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The last grams (of love)

It was so thin
that I could feel it
fleeing away
through my fingers.



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morning's hangover

(banished to suffer under sunlight)

There’s no way: I'm guilty.
My sin was great
and for what I’ve made
I ought to pay mutely.



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Sinking

What am I trying to prove?

That life is not a waste of time?
That I can love and be loved?
That I'm someone better than I am?
That, even being a boy, I'm a man?

What am I trying to prove?

why do I have to prove?
what's to be proved?
and what's a proof?

Am I waterproof?



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Prophecy

For I was not a little gay
in the absence of today
I cannot doubt that tomorrow
is another day of sorrow.



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Stupidents

and I'm one of them...


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Romulus' complaint

Opressed by the city I have founded
I walk through the streets without knowing
a place to go where I can find some peace.


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Whisper of Bliss

or Whiskey’s Kiss

Sink into my arms
and maybe we’ll find
the way to a place
where sleepy stars
twinkle, laugh and shine
in amusement and grace.

We ought to gather
our heads tonight
and go together
into day’s delight.

Rest over my chest,
oh, sad sweet angel,
‘cause resting we’ll fly
over the cypress,
towards the rainbow
that lies in the sky.

In sunset, again,
when light leaves the coast,
put your head against
my chest and sink the most.
.
.


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InterNep Tune

I was caught
in world wide webs,
like a lot
of other mind-dabs.


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Show Business

I'd rather die

than rest in peace...

.

.

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Love

- Can you stand?
The room is dark.
Hold my hand
and there’s no lack
of someone else.

[…]

- Do you still feel lonely?
- …

I feel your loneliness too,
conducted by the hand of my solitude…


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American Girl

to A. Lane

There’s nothing I can do better
than die in your arms.

Seas of bright juice murmuring
far away – outside your window.
The day breaks.
It’s a glorious dawn.
Two emeralds shine over me
and a tender song
hovers above us.

You light a match
and spread pride like the goddess
of the sacred fire
of ancient love.
Maybe I shall do a sacrifice
to Venus
in the altar of Jove.

There’s incense all over the place.
I can’t see, but I sense
that this one is my dying day.

Strange… I’m free from fear.
Shaking hands with Death,
in menstruation blood I bath
and I fill in forms of resurrection
(I’m not free from forms,
but that’s ok – I’ve plenty of time
since I only ought to die today).

I construct obelisks
in the Fields of Life
in honor of Noble tasks.
And, please, unscrew the locks
from the doors of your heart
and provide me some xXx!

Is this the wasted land?

If so, why do I see flowers
and tall trees, and green tea
(green tea as green as dollars),
and high hopes even taller?
If this is the wasted land,
where does this scent come from?
And how can my life go on?

Death calls me
and I gotta go,
but I supplicate for
one more second…

And then I ask you:
can I come…

to your arms, as pale as ice?
to your legs, once and twice?
in your breast?
in your face?
in your warm sweet mouth?
in
all over the place?

can I?

there’s nothing I can do better
than die in your arms.



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