I've seen you furious as a flower,
I've seen you sweet as a bomb.
I've seen us sitting on a tree,
I've seen us oceans apart.

I've seen so little, myopic,
I've seen leagues away.
I've seen indubitable truths,
And I've seen to doubt them.

I've seen my own way
In ways I'm blind to see now.

The world gets bigger
As I remove meaning oyt of it.

We live through encounters
In a space of prominently
Failed encounters.

What we'll meet
We'll only know
When we meet.
So what's with chance?
Whose fault it is?

Fault itself ran free,
Free to err continents and seas.
Isn't fault old news,
A worn coin
Recycled just for the sake
Of a conscience relieve,
A frailty of our self judgement?

There is always a quest.
But we don't find Grails at their ends.
Are the quests that turn
Into what we seek.

There are transformations,
Never endings.

In the absence of a future
To guide my past,
I carry the moment in my shoulders,
With any baggage within.

Let it explode the pain,
Let earthquakes build shelters
No calms can destroy.
Let pain explodes
For what I don't see
Is stronger than every color;
What I deny and exclude
Conduct me more
Than what I accept and embrace;
All that explodes
Cannot be hidden anymore.

I expose open wide what makes me small
For I choose to be great.

Inhale air,
Exhale your pain.
Don't search for mirrors,
Your reflex is irrelevant.

Be your own flower,
Be your own thorn,
Cry your own heart,
Learn yourself up.

There's a stop,
There's a fast lane.
Both exist for a reason.

We've got nothing about ourselves
But a room full of stories
Full of memories,
All we have is us.

If, at moments,
You feel like drifting,
Is just life taking control
Once again.

If we are all we have,
We are lonely,
But there's also
Only one way
To be strong:
Through ourselves.

Spread,
Infect,
Pulverize,
Migrate,
Pollinate,
Propagate,
Reverbe­rate,
Echo,
Transmit,
Amplify,
Expand,
Convince,
Multiply,
Prolif­erate,
Create,
Pass on,
Reproduce,
Tell,
Shout.

It's worth it.

In the cold of a winter
He came in home
Just in time for dinner.

The key opened the door,
No one was surprised with his presence,
He sat on the end of the table,
Ate the dinner,
Not a look, not a comment,
They may even have not noticed him,
They may have not heard him,
Or the tinkling of  cutlery.

He withdraw after finished,
Went to the apartment door,
And it was his apartment,
But with all those people,
Unknown,
Strangers,
As if they owned the place.

Inside again,
At the bathroom,
The mirror confessed:
He was not there.
His time has passed.
He was not dead (that he knew for sure)
But he just was not there.

Hard to say where
He could be,
When he could be.
His decaying senses
Were of no help.
Everything he could feel
Of that time-space in the apartment,
But his whole body
Was somewhere else.

He slept on his bed,
But woke with the sun in his face.
No apartment,
No bed,
No dinner,
No ceiling.

Just a wanderer
Touching the last of his belongings:
His memories
Of what used to be his dream.

We are weak,
We can't handle completeness.
Time and behavior are strangers
And we try to conform them,
Configure into our limited view,
And we call it plans.

Yet, people, time, nature,
Movements, chances, impact,
All is uncontrollable.
Everything controllable
Is irrelevant:
What's the use in worrying about them?

Plans must be missing things,
Plans must contain lack of planning,
They are a learning process,
But we want them to be predictions,
The future to realize.

Plans are our incompetence
To comprehend the unexpected.
They are useful just as they
Remain unplanned.

Every calm lies fury within.
Like flowers on a tomb
Of an unexpected death.

It is the inner aggression,
The forgetfulness of the world,
Calm is ancient and, as such,
A vestige, the remnant of existence.

Calm is remote,
Keeps us faraway,
It is the missing ship
Never to arrive.

Where there is calm
There is latency
Of a sleeping giant,
The  outlying asteroid
Sudden to collide in an Earth's desert.

I want to act above calm
So, in fury,
I'll let peace reign.

Wake up in the cold,
A hot shower will warm you.
Black coffee on a cup
Something to eat before leaving.

Such a normal day,
Such a normal living,
Such regular experiences,
But it's a new day and I know it.

The big lesson today
Is not to learn how to recover from a disaster,
Or how to live after a catastrophe,
Or how to keep on the happy moments.

Take a look on the left,
What's on your side?
Is there a special light beam
And an unusual position of some furniture?
Have you noticed the real color
Of your living room,
Of your hair,
Of your floor?

In such regular days
Living is granted,
Mediocrity is given (not in a bad way) -
It's just life on top of normality.
What's left for such days
Are the little pleasures,
The small tones of changes
From one day to another
Showing us through little,
almost imperceivable, gifts,
Of the grandiosity
Hidden within tenuous pieces of averages.

Wreckages are not despair,
They are the end of a storm.
They are a chance to decide
What's worth and what's not.

Wreckages are the art
Of the nature, of an implosion,
Of a disaster,
And the opposite of the disaster:
They are the calm,
The corrosive mold now exposed.

Wreckages are the place we climb
To see the extension of the destruction,
They make, out of tears, sweat.

Wreckages exposes us to the world,
For our caves are no longer there,
There is no room for a reform,
And eyes once again meet eyes,
We feel the raw earth within our toes,
Time fractures, and suddenly,
We're animals just like ages ago,
Vulnerable,
Without past,
Without future.

The wreckages
Are raw material of the healing.

If I were to write to you
I'd write that I love
That we were what we were.

I'd write that we went far,
Maybe too far,
And now home is a distant idea.

I'd write I love you,
But that'd be silly
And rather difficult to deal with.

I'd write that I see
Through the fog in front of us,
And that would be a lie.

I'd write that I understand
What we've become,
In a vague, strange way, I do.
(Just don't ask me how we became)

I'd write tough truths
That tells  more about myself
Than what the words really mean.

I'd write how wrong I was,
And I was, terribly,
And nothing would change,
Unless time proves me wrong.
(I'd have to be wrong to not be wrong).

I'd write ****, powerful words
In an elegant combination
But they'll just be the air in the wind.

If I were to write...
What would it change?

When I left town,
I meant to come back,
To turn my village
Into a great city,
Make it flourish,
But I'm not there,
And I ain't coming back.

My old street is my name,
My neighborhood, my family name,
Its lake is my busy calm place,
Its morals, my constant fight.

A town always wanting,
Waiting to be,
The capital of county,
The capital of the state,
The capital of hearts,
Trapped with a small
Megalomaniac obsession,
A misplace inside a panic room,
The dream of a solved traffic congestion,
A myth of buildings and skyscrapers,
A proud town,
Proud of all citizens that left,
Proud of all you can find in there
That could never be found three,
Proud of a growth measured by irrelevant mesures.

A great town,
Hidden in a beautiful valley,
In the middle of no paths,
More peculiar each day,
With decaying ideas
In the exact proportion
Of a growing population.

There is many of it in me,
But there's nothing there about me.

Love just for a moment
Is to love forever,
Even if love is over.

... And the train never arrived.
There are tails and the station
And trains somewhere...
But not here.

Nobody came
And nobody went,
It's just me,
A lone loner,
Trying to blow clouds
With a straw.

There's just me here,
The town is dead
With everything inside.
It's no wonder no train comes.
There's just nothing here.

Anyone knows where to go?

You set my riot.
Time is not relative. It's just our choices.
Time is there,
It doesn't even notice us.

I don't like what we became.
I don't like to have done what I have done,
I don't like watch things from distance,
I don't like that your eyes cry my tears,
I don't like that my pain hurts you.

But there's no more to the world
Than the world.
Is this where we came,
I either deal
or keep rebelling. I'll fight.
Probably.

I've just let someone in,
And, now,
I just don't know what to do
With all the spaces left.

I extirpate the existence from me,
Not into the void of inexistence,
But to now, where existence does not fit.

The skyscraper
Sees much from above,
Imposes, marks the landscape

He thinks he's big
But he'll never
See another city

How I feel
About today, yesterday
And the day before:
I feel like
A building falling down
For being to heavy;
Like a car
Over a garden;
Like the rain and cold
Over the homeless;
Like a brick
In the ocean;
Like a fish
Trapped in a submarine.

I don't wish to die
For that would be
Sand in a desert.

I wish to have never existed

Maybe I were
Two different people,
Maybe I could not fit
Within me.

I was sure
To be in the right way,
To discover a new way,
So life could go along
Within me.

What is left
Of what we were,
Of the days we traveled,
Of the futures that never came
(But we were sure to make them happen)?
What is left
Of those complete smiles
That were to compensate
Every tear ever dropped, before or after?

I leave us as a different person.
For better or for worse, different.
An expanded person
For which I'm forever grateful,
But, still, grieving. Hurtfully grieving.
Dreadfully grieving.
Cursing my existence grieving.

If this ever ought to heal,
My only wish is:
May it never suppress
Those light moments
We gave each other

If only
I could see
Farther than my ego.

Happiness lasted
While we could feel
Skin and skin.

The dance of the days,
Compressed in our struggles,
Expanded in our thoughts,
Coloring the absences
With the most complex mix of ingredients:
Passion, pain, wanderer thoughts, missing, carrying, crying, jumping, yelling, silencing, grief and joy.

The last of the happy days,
Of those days where
Everything were re-doable,
The limits would keep us safe,
And I was proud.

From this moment
Nothing expects me
Except the certainty
That the happy days
Are rushing towards
The past, losing its smells and taste,
Like a voice, getting weak and distant,
Until nothing of it remains.

I was wrong to believe
That my pain would make me
A better person.

Every repetition is a confirmation.

The world turns so
New things can happen
To reinforce
World exists.

Every repetition is a confirmation.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Beat, beat, beat.

You're alive.

If life were to happen again
It would explode
Into this,
This uncertainty,
This half lived moments,
In the mediatrix
Of fear and confidence,
Of poorness and night life,
Of starts and new jobs,
Of roads and destinations.

But this point,
From which costs more
To turn back
Than to move on,
It's the essence
Where meanings are not required,
But clarity:
What and why,
What and why,
What and why;
It is life itself,
Happening,
From opportunity to opportunity,
Floating just to decide
What's likely to exist
And what's not.

Men is evil by nature,
It is civilization which ruins him.

At points
What pumps us
Imprisons.

The difference
Is abundance.

Every house
Has another house within.
In the smells, the roughness of the walls,
In the little cracks
That barely are seen.

The voices remain there,
The dreams remain there,
Our gentle touches remain there.

It is also in the furniture.
The same house with different furniture
Is another house, with another house.
The tables lose their colors,
And is still a table,
A chair changes until no chair endures:
It is a tree once again,
In a forest of other chairs
And doors, and wardrobes.

We cannot sit anymore,
We cannot rest,
Neither be there:
It's somebody else's house.

But between the cracks
The air blows
A distinct sound
Of every spoken words
In this house
Of fathers, mothers,
Sons, workers, masons.

Bricks are just bricks.

The mismatches
Make us.
The dissonant jazz chords
Are more powerful
Than majors.

The has to be
Something of misunderstood,
Of somewhat unexplained,
Or a reluctant mystery
That whenever something is
Discovered, a new unpredicted face
Of it is revealed.

Raise to the empty,
Nothing would fit anywhere
If wasn't for it.

We are sealed by our bodies,
But we can only stretch
To reach what's outside.

Don't turn right.
The only option
Is to go ahead,
Or ticket awaits you.

Obey the red light,
Your life depends on it,
Kids need their parents
And parents need their kids.
Rules save lifes.

Wrong way.
You can only go
The other way around,
It's all for good traffic,
So we can arrive early,
So hours aren't wasted,
We want you to have
10 more minutes with your family.

Parking forbidden,
Keep moving,
Moving,
Rolling,
Don't stop,
Faster, but watch the
Speed limit.

It's all very clear, you'll get used to.
Everything is there
For a reason.
More signs, better traffic,
Better people,
Happier people,
Guided
By the ultimate sign:
Smile, you're been filmed.

The wind, the farm,
The mist,
The church and the park,
The little square blocks,
The fading Polaroids,
The walks with old friends,
Carefully wrapped and tied.

Nothing new
In our daily journey,
Except for the images and the words,
The right words,
The whispered words,
Those ones that fly through
The meadows, the plains,
That turn to tornados,
That vanish entire islands,
That reflects on Mars,
That you barely understand,
But turn you over.
Words, as if they were, at least,
Pure.

I now see
Things I've imagined, and I
Am not sure
If they are just as I
Imagined
Or now that I see
I imagine I've imagined them
That way.

It is everything, except mine.
It is me, except what I've kept from me.
It is itself, otherwise specified.
Words and content,
Form, soul, intention.
Imprecisely complete
But nevertheless complete.

It is a blossom blossoming in concrete,
It is anything it was not
Five minutes ago.

A gift,
Flourishing
Within the impossible soil:
The feelings left unfelt
Between you and me.

I cannot exist
For it is impossible
That existence itself happens
Without me.

I must travel further
Than fueled only by reason.
I am consistent
In the exact measure
I'm incomplete.

Beyond the ends
Lie the limits of ourselves
For the universe
Fits in our eyes
Like a shell inside an oyster
Inside a shell.

I still am
What I should not be,
I cannot contain myself:
I'm to big for me.

Carbon,
Hydrogen,
Oxygen,
Nitrogen,
Small little other things.

Now and ever.

Red lights around,
Low movement,
The hot air
Just above the ground,
Freezing cold above it,
And the foggy view,
Precising my coordinates:
São Paulo,
The instant karma
Or no karma at all.

The eternal rumble
Humming like Mutants sounds
Confuses my nostalgia
(What is it that I'm hearing?),
And the more I stay,
More roots turn to branches,
More passing faces seem familiar,
And your songs make deep sad sense,
Losing the sadness, losing senses again,
Never ever the same.

A city,
Just a city,
That wouldn't meet
Self esteem if it was not
For the brizzle.

You resemble anywhere
As long as one sees
Signs and the streets' names,
For no one resemble you,
But, yet, all is contained.
The right and the wrong,
The worth, the width,
The asphalt and the airplanes,
The loneliness, the crowds,
The invisibles
And the acquainted that never crossed by,
All circumscribed within the limits
Of your endless boundaries.

The madness that doesn't grow
Does not fully consume me,
That keeps alive the useless sanity.

The madness that exhibits the unreal,
Making everything else real.

The madness of being what I never wanted,
or wanting what I never was.

This madness,
Crazy by lucidity,
Wize for losing itself
In the meanders of all possibilities.

I am crazy for all inexplicable bets,
Crazy to take by uncertain
All that my existence proves.
Crazy to wake up every day
Waiting for the hour to sleep to wake up.

Crazy, yet alive;
Alive, yet healthy;
Whole, complete,
Occupying the spaces
With my empty mind,
In the infinite
Of my tiny madness.

I'm stuck in the shy vacuum
Between art and science,
The sensitive knowledge,
The logical chaos,
Rational feelings,
And, like any middles,
Indefinite,
By definition.

In the eagerness
Of not being wrong
We miss brilliant opportunities
Of being dreadfully wrong.

Ships that miss their destinations
Are the ones that discover continents.

I'll let myself
Be again and again
A fluid mistake,
Sink to find Atlantis,
Space out to conquer stars,
Dream of being Napoleon
(In a recurring Waterloo),
I'll scream for the sake of nonsense,
And shut when everything is out of place.

A mistake, no more than
A mistake.

At least, I'll be in movement.

There are many things
That burn
And are not fuels.

Curiosity burns
When we are in doubt,
Minds burn
With ideas that are to big for them,
Even coldness burn:
We freeze, and it burns,
When we miss
The velvet touch
In our souls.

Most of all,
Forgetfulness burns
For, more than exist,
We want to be memories.

We've taken the long road,
Curvy road,
Crossing mountains,
Infinite tunnels
Built ages ago.

Somewhere we diverged
Your tail lamps fading
In the rearview mirror
And in my life,
In the long miles
Between any start
And any destination.

We're protected
From rain and snow,
But forever accompanied
By loneliness
Of a quiet road,
Long, long road,
Where night are inevitably
Longer than days
In the drama
Of lost paths,
Bifurcations,
Clovers,
In infinite combinations,
Always leading
In the unexpected
Feelings buried
In the soft sands
Of the surrounding deserts

No words.
Sword on.

We reflect ourselves
In everything we create
Hoping then to be mirrors.
Turns out, they're just
Aging photographs,
Revealing the time past,
Where we've grown,
Where we're stuck,
A passage from the past,
Untouchable,
But reachable,
Invisible,
But never invincible,
Just the remains
That we, inevitably,
Will lose.

Sometimes we free fall
In the windy moist air
So we can learn to fly
Only to reach the sky.

Happiness does not flourishing
In the minimal spaces
Left between
The unsoiled feelings
Occupying our anxieties.

We find the fertile lands
Where we don't seek,
Where our thoughts diminish,
Where heartbeats are heard
In the intensity of the rush
Warning us
That any of our ideas
Are less than useless.

I tried to hammer
"Together"
Into "love".

It blew,
And all that's left
Was "me" and "you".

Prologue:
I Am:
A permanent state of being

I am:
A transitory state of being.

The poem:
I Am nothing
For every cell
Is dying, being born,
Getting old, getting replaced,
Everything is changing;
I am well,
I am fine,
I am worried,
But this are minor am's.
For I Am nothing.

What's left for the guilty
Besides a life long self awareness
Of a lesson that costs more
Than what is leaned?

Maybe it's not the balance
Or piece of mind
That matters,
Maybe it's us, just us,
Our strength
To survive
A lonely guilty journey,
A new type of immortality,
The perpetual absurd
Flaming from what it produces:
A lack of force that ultimately produces
The strongest one.

Late at night
Problems are up,
And in my head
A slight shade
And running thoughts
Quietly and calmly
Slow down
With the fading chords
of a Chopin piece.

Everything else
Remains the same:
Problems will still be up
In the morning,
Restless and relentless.
But those chords,
That song,
Fluid,
Will, every night,
Carry me in that
Zero gravity machine.

Waking up
From a dream
Inside a dream
Where we
Were enough
We were
We're different
We're weary,
We've seen it
We'd beat it.

We'll do exactly
All of it,
But I'll do and you'll do.

I'll say it plainly,
No hidden messages,
No flourishing,
No adornments:
I'll miss us.

The shadow covered
Half your face,
Lighting up your eyes,
Forgiving your smile.

I could see in the way you look
The fire burning inside you,
Burning for life,
But not for me.

I saw my rusty ideas,
Ideas that did not inhabit my body,
That promised an impossible steadiness,
An unvulnerable reality
In an ever changing world.

It was not me,
But it was in me.
The footprints
I foolishly took for granted.

A litter of water
Turns into few drops of tears.
The difference is what we learn.

The little sillinesses
Wanders and drifts away
Until you realize
The color of your shirt
Doesn't matter anymore,
The car you drive,
The ceiling above you;
Truth is not cruel, it is only cold.

The roads are different today,
But they all lead
To same is destinations,
And my obeying foot walk by them
Just to not be stuck.

Those smell that once
One could almost touch,
Delicate in all tones,
Desaturated, are only smells once again,
Distant and forgotten.

We merged so strongly
That we've wrecked in our way out,
And now I don't look for fixes anymore,
I look on functioning,
Completeness,
I look the other way
(It doesn't look bright either).

Leave it all behind
Is just another way
Of carrying the weight

If you could only see the moon
I see now,
But our eyes are opposite direction,
With our sights never to cross
One another.

I remain the same child
Forever fearing being abandoned,
Being abandoned
For fearing abandonment.