Hour_Volcano

O Oceano vence o Pensamento dentro desta pedra, quase cinza, quase mulher, os cabelos... A espuma do Oceano desenha os afetos da chuva sobre os caminhantes. Somos a guitarra da minha mãe que atravessa o rio, com os ventos metálicos da urgência. Onde vamos tão novos? Pertencemos à Arte Elétrica da altitude. Somos os Futuros que dizem: o deserto é uma grande Alegria no corpo vibrante. Acredito em hipóteses de areia na língua, em línguas arenosas. Aquece tanto a tua Teoria na possibilidade do mundo. Acreditas em Outono no mundo original? Como vens beijar o interior do possível? Quando vamos nascer de outra água comum? ...Um poema faz o Evento mais inteiro.

Agora a língua vence o Oceano e os infinitos naufrágios mais do que futuro beijo. 

Adivinho as aves e as conchas onde há Saudade...     

Eros with Jazz

Eros plays warm jazz

with orange waterfall. Or so I hope.

how many hands are on approach from the rainy morning of drums 

your skin comes from a first Tongue of mine

Oriental touch, last night, maybe. going over events and paths, not yet.

the same woman, the same dress, the same posture.

closely, she flows and sings the opposite string of falling.

waiting for the keys where the infinite directions of one wind only

begins

Absolute

blowing

young flesh approaching Hope 

Mulher = Poesia

sobre a Natalidade da Poesia e o Renascimento da Mulher-em-Versos

No princípio, era o espanto. Um animal inquieto, uma vida sem verbo.

Na primeira manhã do mundo e da vida sem verbo, somos o animal inquieto que encontra Algo, em vez de Nada. Acontece um nexo íntimo com ser

E assim começa a estória possíveis dos deuses tácteis, dentro do Espanto de nascer. Imagino os deuses a dizer Poesia sobre o Mundo. E aí o Mundo acontece como Poema que cresce dentro de cada corpo e de cada astro rumo ao Indefinido – táctil? possível?

No princípio, era absolutamente Espanto, o meu verbo sem nome, animal exclamativo e expectante de nexos de sentidos com ondulações de tempo

E o espanto procurava nomes com verbos para dizer a sua ondulação táctil pela exclamação originária. As palavras têm corpo de vento e quando sopram livres podem abrir tão fundo todos os ventos e todos os corpos que não sabemos quanto renascemos em cada palavra

E a vida de uma mulher refaz o Princípio, com suas órbitas de astros e nexos de corpos. Imagino os deuses a dizer Poesia sobre a Mulher 

E a Mulher acontece como Poema que cresce através da ondulação táctil dos nomes e dos verbos que sopram livres na boca do espanto, tão fundo que não sabemos se a Mulher é o Princípio natal do mundo ou o Poema da língua inteira que diz, exclamativa e expectante: Onde a flor da pele? Onde arde, pétala após pétala, a flor da pele? Onde sopra a Origem da Lua Nova? Onde se acende meu útero tão pleno tão vago? Onde dói o moinho do pão, da lágrima, da loucura, do êxtase? Onde toca o Indefinido na Boca? Que significa dizer, beijar, morder o Mundo no meu corpo? Fala a Mulher-em-Versos, desdobrando o corpo e seus nexos de sentido, desdobrando e tecendo a intimidade táctil com o mistério Indefinido de nascer e morrer sempre 

Faz sol e lua e sombra na mesma boca, 

sempre ardendo mais do que verbos

transitory extreme

meanings play. close to alarm. 
leanings play. close to red. 

one precipice clouded by red freedom. 
it could bleed and blossom. daylight. 
one diagonal vein, close to one Omega. 
born from the sudden collapse, all dense intimacy. 

I quit my cure not. ocean drinks deep and large.

another girl abandoning every lake of chance. another world killing itself within your tongue, 
the perspiring question, mouth of red fear. 
very young. 

another young girl becoming the impossible sense. 

I quit my cure not. ocean remains only the gesture where. the furies arrive and paint the memory of refuge within new names. Isles may be us.

I quit my cure not. ocean drinks my projects and voyages. before possible. 

among smoke love your foam, all dense intimacy.

you feed my dangers with lines and arches. 

ego mechanics

ego works like a burning of multiple explosions. bodies explode beyond the loss and the silent panic of excess. time explodes because of a delayed reality. doubt explodes within and against my strivings. desirable denials and other cries and still loaded with potential wildfire. and your mouth traces the waves of hair and sun roaring on approach. the moment reverses the question of flying and falling. our kiss expands the radius of sound-signs toward inner vacuum. openness must discern struggles of many lips traversing voices of skin. the origin believes in many Isles. 

I wish I could believe in extreme verbs and their cliffs calling from within and against. there is a combustion of ideas and animals in this love paralysis. in fact, in flesh, in flock. not flowing from the spring. the whole force becomes not-me. it sounds other than the face of holding the firstness of the first flame        

tongue

what does tongue caress at midday, blind river of violent waiting in the flesh...

we climb many trees of silence, purple oaks, infinite forests, of silences, we climb alone and dance, over and over, first tongue empties the bottom, touches spring,
we wear blue and we orbit, like birds and sun rays, through all possible wounds, unknown doors, like the moon girls within our books and pulses, we love, hence we perspire, waiting for the juice. tongue, nostrils whisper, uprooting the angel of the kiss from the tongue, promising the return to flesh. mine yours, here. why open leans over the sun, beating the drum of future letters beyond vertigo, ascent, newest song with skin within the Arch of Alpha and Omega, loving until

the song flows and turns to lava, fresh lava, fresh tongue kissing until    

Geometria Não-Euclidiana

sofre somente a torção do espaço-tempo 

começa na boca a evidência da intensidade

uma sensação de Teorema da Incompletude Desejante

e da curva assintótica do beijo e da sua elipse noturna

sofre no instante e na duração. a fricção da matéria alucina. 

aquecimento de atmosfera tende para quasi-Infinitum.

Transfinite tenderness

our hands spiralling 

poorer or richer 

vibrant pain

alone

dying for 

future 

flammable 

body of hours 

one

Time & Redemption

...it blossoms without why...
...roses tic-tac and explode...
...this is Time, the Unredeemable...

I love all times 

in one mouth 

kissing here 

burning here 

dilemmas of pasts 

dilemmas of futures 

more than possible 

warm breasts 

perspiring milky ways

overflowing babies

at once all times

desire one mouth

the burning kiss

redemptor sive delyrium (?)

Master Beta

I never saw poorer girls lost within Summer Tales, missing the signs of mine, born in a clamour only, while rebirth plays the part of the dragon serpent from infancy

Drink me, or give me that spring of life where some language lasts and says rose robe nude in the same sentence. I believe in nudity with infinite futures whispering on stage

my hitting the road of senses with lust and perfume, my avoiding the road, my dodging the road and the crossroads where my father, my blood, my mask... share More than my sweet love's flower, my idea of despair touching the face in vain, not kissing, agitated, 
who rocks most? who pursues most? 
  
my becoming Thunder on the seashore, age of skin. I believe in bodies drinking me or giving me that More unknown breaking my next hollow kiss, more lips than flesh, more text than flowers, at exactly this moment, vortex 

Not kissing rocks the hour and questions the hour 
and bites too much
two poems hasting to breastfeed the momentum, not kissing, 
who rocks most? who begins most?

the plot one dilemma two poems 
and if bodies in between claim the denied hour the truth climbs till the skin of furor
furor amoris vox clamantis insomnia

memory maps foretell the force you drink me
rounded with other plot and cosmos you are the book  

Master Alpha

Tell us a story, Alphabet. 

Once upon a time my rage wandered wildly, complicating the world and its octopus of silence. 

My rage had many packs of wolves and kettles of hawks. 

It was a stormy night and desire seated under the text. 

My rage had also many guitars and much more strings. 

It was a stormy night and truth began like hunger for a face.

My rage danced over soft waves laden with that chaos you did not dream of.  

Tell us a story capable of drinking the seven seas, Alphabet

It was a stormy night revolving around the Island and the Firehouse of my impossible loves. Darkness undid my evidence and fell like my first distress, deep down.

Breathing costs much far too much extremes

The end is addicted to sugar and gambling

I am stressing tomorrow my rest

the surface in quest of edges

life displaces gods less drinkable than virgin blood or symbols dying for symbols

you navigate wide temples black swan 

where the map cries out between vacuum Alpha and vacuum Beta

Antarctica connects our staircases without the art of doubting 

before and after spelling

Alphabet leans on me and tells nothing 

but the Great War of Surprises

draining loves from bodies to streams

equations melt in the future chapter of a hurricane

and change my study of genitalia in butterflies

Reverse us a story, Alphabet