one word or syllable

the path comes from the solar rocks and develops through my temple the veins
an infinity of rays and waves concludes there is no breath without heat

my arrival into port is a mixture of myths I believe not

the summer calls up the birds the distances you are
you open my wings the full range of love and despair

this am I
and I do my best at the very origin of things and cries
contraction and closure of the eyes sudden rigidity and relaxation of muscles

go through the changes on the body as if and as if not various cries and things move or fly

the temperature of air engages the blood of desire at first sight
again at first sight at first terror the repetition of one word or syllable of yours

sudden trembling of voice and other first pulses of mine

love dares not live without the blank rhythm of some dancing or striving
like finally scaling the wall or collapsing otherwise
the trunk against the rock
perspiring a cold sweat
nothing but wholly

various skin-feelings a forest of muscular cries
an effort of touching in every joint
instantly on fire

wounded

she's breaking rocks in a mist of high idioms or fortresses. the first ashes of crystal seem wounded. the potency of the blank hours. too sharp to be denied.

daylight will come. and it breathes the bird and the landscape in few minutes. ourselves rapidly.
if I remember the place where the wounds ripen. maybe the blood meditates. I touch the point of redness and shadow. a wound is good because it mixes fierce desires with nostalgias.
your skin submerged with the nouns. at dawn.
whenever a vessel sinks and accepts my storm. I abandon the resounding masks. and my knowledge of storms destroying the caress. otherwise. there is pain and verbs in the motionless narration. underneath. whenever. born of air and metaphors. you and I wait for warmth. Our gardens and breasts grow. immensely.
I become the seeming being of the future summer. you change the wheather. disclosed. derived from adjectives you do not recall at length.
you transform the most potential seeds of understanding. apotheosis in the skin. a summer's day from scratch. dissolved. as between two layers of skin. as if the access to meaning was a savage transparence. you are flowing and crying and breathing and speaking myself in the woods.

nakedness is not a boundary but the flammes. themselves. ourselves. vital origin. the stream of flammes where bathing must be.

suddenly the language by the sea differs from the extremest waves. sun should be the place. yet it depends. all depends. on the war that never sounds exactly like an evasion.

as the boundary releases a melody. the substance of abysmal afternoons speak of life. beyond the symbol. perhaps an interpretation of a round kiss. widely a solid a force. the lake of the kiss overflows our tongues. writing and tearing up the pages. the voice of cliffs. the redness of our tongues like winds.

at the edge of things we depart until the birds are our inner lamps and secret syllables. birds evading. birds breaking the major silence of metamorphosis.

this fear of ours is the water of the lake. fear of a null magnitude. you are my expressible air. out of nothing. it must be possible. must be. must be. fully possible and absolute.
solitude comes at daylight every morning. once. twice. repeatedly. like multiple rivers oscillating. you are my wild exception. over and over. the centre of time.

moons exceed my meanings. very fresh and fragile. the songs you are. in possession of possessed. the ease of love on a hill of confused illuminations.

not one sun within the iris could suffice. you are of perpetual fire the flesh in disequilibriu.m

salivação

dizes o fogo. o maior desde que há noite e viagens de jangadas. atamos os corpos como troncos. não sabemos remar.
aprenderemos.
as águas sobem. são labaredas de fogo. dizes. a tua fala é uma espiral de luas novas. dizes-me fogo com a minha língua.
exclamo-te. livremente. dizes que sim. o fogo é o tempo. talvez maior.

hipermnésias

indefinidamente: a vida está no poema, hipermnésia erótica confabulatória. repetem-se as imagens ou as espumas das imagens e dos tempos. instantes em que o sol é todo para sempre.
Só acredita quem sabe ler-se e escrever-se com essas fábulas ou chuvas de fogo.
Se a pele estremecer, é esse o sinal dos sinais.
Confundir a pele e a verdade: nunca se perde.
Em caso de dúvida, regressar à pele. Em caso de regresso, refazer a dúvida, a certeza e todas as línguas sobre a pele. a nudez será a Origem. Aí começa, aí não acaba.

a verdade na pele. inteiro o sol. respiro.

a pele faz verdade enquanto a noite arde sem palavras. decides apaixonar-te depois de descrer. nada te dói fora do mar. desenhas incêndio. a cinza repousa nos pulmões. outras águas passadas.

fisicamente fui feito da matéria que explode. matéria que explode. desde a fonte. a espuma da fonte. respiro.

a pele é a verdade e a tua língua é a língua. e eu sou fracções incandescentes em elipses inexactas gravitando sobre as memórias dos sinais da pele. disse tudo até cair onde a pedra é flor.

leio-me com os dedos nas feridas que não saram. a tua língua e a tua lua doem como música que desce pela sombra da boca abandonada. os pássaros nascem nas mãos cada vez mais.

o círculo transparente do corpo

noutra vida noutro ciclo noutras fibras. quem sabe ninguém sabe.
as asas serão a atmosfera inteira. ninguém sabe. quanto medo pesa. sobre tanto.
a ficção suprema dos gritos de gaivota ou de rosa. a urgência das pétalas vermelhas esta noite. batendo. tanto. batendo.

os segundos quentes de um sangue imaginário serão todo o tempo. falaremos dos pássaros onde o mundo recomeça no vento. sopra-me. com uma língua de mar. tua. teu sal. toca

atravesso a transparência de uma língua. palmo a palmo. a floresta interior. queria a Palavra que faz beijo. sobre a nudez. um fio de saliva que corta as veias. a tua saliva as minhas veias. e outros contrários que desfazem o peito contra a força do meu vazio. o delírio da mão esquerda rasgando a ideia de perder-Te. os textos de chuva que apagam os meus olhos de madrugada.

não sei onde vais respirar. bebo à saúde de não-compreender.

aprendo. o amor é um tambor de pele. bate. nesta vida neste ciclo nestas fibras.

gull says You Are

there are cries vaster than our bodies. most air vibrates like that first womb.

this muscle trembles exceedingly. your kiss should be blue and round. on earth. or be not.

from this planet.

white-winged gull

the white-winged gull cries. distantly.
cries within. around. through. this flesh of mine. and my bread.

my love could be a ground nesting bird. if nothing.
the gull fixes my silence.

most questions lead to the surface. the evening air. your mouth. my loss.
this is the frontier of longing. coming back. as vital as dark. coming back to the origin.
these waves consume all carnivores and angels alike.

never have I collapsed so high.
higher than those cries of the white-winged gull. I am not the beginning. rage and music exceed the sand. you liberate the forces. their blue apparition. you raise my hands beyond reality.
sand bars and cliffs of my hours. fight within. guitars and violins. confused strings. your breath or my fiction of flowing. untouched. your song densely consists of Summers. nothing but Summers. and our finding the spring. near my coastely angst.