A Ideia de Primavera Eterna

Uma mulher senta-se no chão. O corpo desenha e escreve. A boca tacteia nas nuvens.  

underground questions

Always the novelty of loneliness. Here, abdominal force. The center is hollow. The branches of my trees are afraid. Here, my mother's impotency. The sea recedes into the first womb. I am the one who thinks, writes, suffers, before the path, amidst absence, the naked urgency of eternity. And You wave as if you had charted the possible escapes, the underground cycles of creation and loss. Outside, touch the skin of the world, edged with questions, the underground questions. It is more and otherwise than cross-fire. It speaks many tongues and it does not pass, it conflagrates the whole being, like angels, if Angels made love.

I might dive into dreams, stirring the World. Nowhere to go, not enough room to care of the crying bodies of mine... intimate soaring against the simple daily bread.

If all love secrets lead to an ultimate obstacle, a candle light, a sterile juice, a blurred dream, all at once planted at the psalms of unknown Life... I am against... You cannot vanish.

I never desired the details of foam around the strongest springs, my muscles cross several lifetimes, on returning from flashes of fullness, in love with the Idea of Infinity...  

writing within a cloister

i walk through your cloister. there is a well at the heart of the inner garden. i wonder whether it starts to rain before midday. and whether the nude will yell or sing at the selfhood of things.

i ought to study the cycles and the fractions of despair between instants of rebirth. what is life? who is now at awe? on the edge? developing an Idea that fights against the strictures of words, loops, strings, spirals?... who is knocking at my confusion? Possible children jump over the blue shadows of complication and free the rhythm or logic or mystery or careless rapture...

open trail

whenever you love, follow the trail of living blood till the end.

if you love me, follow my trail of blood till the end.

this is my bleeding of ours

there's no intelligence of love without those dots and those lines and those continuous streams of intensities, drawing their world from within, from between, brom beyond body to body 

(www.superbwallpapers.com)

Game over, play now

one cloud, a void leap, and a red waterfall. this is you, the ultimate player, carrying the blue seeds of the flight or fight.

the chess is another forest of symbols and arrows looking forward to vast skin and hair sunbathing   

barco à vela

como te sentes na Terapia do Último? como te despes no Presente da despedida? como fazes as órbitas sem espaço? por que dizes 'não' durante o fruto?

quando nasci, acreditava no chão do mundo.

sabia contar a história da lágrima sem retorno.

Sophia imaginava os olhos de Alguém e o suspiro anterior.
Sophia tem coração alfabético. Sophia mergulha agora numa questão, bomba-relógio, que pode destruir tudo e regressar ao planeta gasoso da mãe.

Pergunto ao rio e ao leito do rio e ao limite íntimo do leito do rio: mergulho? mergulhamos? no pássaro, no peixe, no beijo. 

somos a mesma noite. 
fingimos a arte de cair. 
fingimos uma queda de costas contra o chão inflamável onde repetimos nunca.
uma queda contra o chão. 
perdemos a respiração, partimos algo no corpo e não sabemos 
o quê, quanto, porquê. 
fingimos o mar e a tempestade.

Sophia dorme no sofá e não quer nem pode 
tocar no esquecimento. 
a criança nunca esquece o barco à vela.

Atmosfera

a história começa atmosfera

o sol cai muito jovem na solidão do álcool 

dentro das mulheres

o que é uma mulher senão combustão? 

com ritmos lunares?

a lua escreve a mulher na terra na noite 

no segredo talvez

aqui fazemos árvores que salvam 

a memória perfeita de Alpha 

escolhemos perder o caminho aqui entre Alpha e Beta 

Gama e Delta uma última boca no chão

um silêncio sangra na história entre Alpha Beta Omega

tu cantas a perseguição e tens medo de Gama Delta Omega
e adormeces entre Delta e a guerra 

entre Alpha e Phi Chi Psi Omega 
entre Omega e a guerra e o amor 

tu a guerreira desarmada

o seio procura aqui boca onde arder

aqui corre a história de leite e mel

a louca história da boca que clama no deserto
o seio perdido onde corre leite de Alpha e mel de Omega
e chove o corpo fazendo todo a lama da guerra 
o seio grita boca 
Desejo 
lábio
incombustível

mastication versus kiss

water knows your hair and chest and vertigo 

(before real plus)

the days grow green songs 

trunks of inner green songs

inner agitation of leaves 

say slow fire groping X 

(before real plus)

this is the last love 

prophecy of love doubting

say curves of ours 

inner curves raining flowing grounding 

say deeper bodies of ours 

this is why we begin again anew as if one bird were all sky

why again anew flesh boiling 

dust boiling and X 

(before possible real plus) 

Libido

prime mover not knowing why to fight the cloud.

Desire misses you, Unknown.

This is another circle around the volcano and womb. I kiss it. I choose to persist through mountainous why? otherwise than truth and freedom and the possible flow of a beginning.

It rains. The tongue says rivers and love rows. The voice keeps rowing without knowing why.

You Desire the dangerous time of the Garden. Now, or someday, I believe one drop of the First Time may save All at once.  

Vertical

Eyes 

climb trees and drink 

from other seven seas 

within your moon. 

The higher the larger the hotter, 

my hours 

off the new island 

where 

everything may spiral 

towards 

the purple idea of flowering 

beyond fear 

Bare chest desiring

You doubt. I desire.

Blue Desire blows White Rocks and bare feet

maybe hearts, mine and thine, yet to beat 

mineral mystery, many horses 

within bare chests

calling doubting revolving atmospheres. 

Kiss this square meter of ours

skin and mist over clay, mine and thine

yet to blossom 

under lips 

touching 

More than Absolute Rays