Cada neto tinha nome de flor
as vezes assustava ao dizer
sempre com amor um nome morto,
ali referindo-se a flor que descansa

Cada sorriso e queda ela sorria
da vida breve era a ladra nata
mas da vida só roubara vasos
variados de plantas tantas

Cada ano se erguia sempre
com sua pitula de cachaça
ria até da desgraça, a velha
doce de fala leve e mansa

Agora descansa ali no céu
a sorrir das plêiades lança
da morte ao subir ao monte
outras sementes do barco
de Caronte

Ó Deusa vestida de espumas
cuja pele traz a leveza de plumas
transbordando pelos poros cas-
catas e inundas de prazer

Ó Afrodite de múltipla alma e ser
és teu parecer a explosão calma
quando teu corpo naufraga mare-
sias ao entardecer

Devotos entregam maçãs e ostras
conchas, flores tantas nos votos
eternos epítetos e formas canta-
rolam ao mar teus fogos

Ó amor que aceita a todos
seja nos ritos, mortais ou monstros
de mulheres e homens lava os cora-
ções aflitos e mudos

Ó Cípria e Safo, elevarão o amor que há em tudo


[inspirada na métrica do fragmento 2d. de Sappho]

You cannot shatter me with my naked flesh, for so many try it. Still one glance at those anxious words of failure and fire could break me entire, if deeper were the eyes to spy it, to see the wounds behind it, those wounds that built a painless ****** in the flesh, a bruise mess, older in myself than shame or desire.

I felt this strange gratitude in solace
Find myself once again freezing
Nobody ever saw me crawling
Yet I'm constantly leaving

I felt this emptiness hollowing
kept myself dying every season
Feeling elsewhere winter's following
but this time without the oblivion

I felt this coldness spreading
through my bones and it's creaking
all the explosions in my head begging
while alone, but yet still bleeding

I felt this wars in my mind
like holy ghosts deceiving
my conscious that was blind
now echoes this anguish screaming

This oldness inside my body
as a childish desire of finding
all the pieces hidden.

This pain in the backs as a folly
way to sickness of discovering
all the pieces in the clover

This again over and over
the same humiliation curtain
all the thick in the gardening

Alleys inside psychedelic pasts
passages throughout a valley
infinite as sound wave baggage's
locked in the pains of oldness

A glance of an old sadness
traded by the joy of isolation
inside the fire this reckless
feels to rebuild a dream of devotion

After years all that remains
are only confusing emotions
hidden as a cracked ocean
of songs in an old bar's name

Tightrope below my feet
remains poor indeed
this endless metaphor