Scratch

My poems are born in sketch books

because sketches is what they are –

poor little scratches, insignificant traces

of cafés, coffee, black tea and lard.

My slightly bloody words

are little sentimental wounds
of a useless and fertile womb

which will carry no more

and because of that it sometimes whines

                                 sometimes even sobs

rebelling against its desolate destiny.

Singular and occasional drops of water

in a country drowning in sunlight

all the longing

blood craving for iron

what was never meant to be.

Tea and martini

“It isn’t popular or safe

to say I love him”,

I heared someone saying

while feeling the touch

of the moon,

which was white

and ever so glittery

As in a nocturne day-dream,

a fat and plumy space grew

unannounced

between me and I

No longer you and I

- just that odd space
in an inner midland

and you were within.

I don’t know if it is the moonlight

Tom Waits’ voice, this broken city

or just plain good old wine fooling,

but it strikes me as if

I am a person of extreme beauty

sitting with you in this crowded and noisy parlour

silently drinking tea and martini.

The present is whole forever.

The future isn’t meant to be.

Anoitecer

Absorvo a escassa luz do sol
que se despede, adormece
e me tornou fluorescente.
Sou os ponteiros do despertador,
pirilampos até de manhã.
Planta na fotossíntese,
quero todo o oxigénio
meu de direito
comer, beber
ser fecunda no meu leito.
Tu anoiteces-me.

Quarto minguante

Expulsas e exiges o meu corpo
de baixa voltagem,
neuronal e onírico,
o código e o códice,
o desenho da caligrafia,
o caracter.
Acossa-me o teu convite
sem prazo de validade,
feixe de paradoxos.
Vou vingar-me no papel,
sujá-lo com obscenidades, gatafunhos,
grãos de açúcar e cadáveres de formigas,
rasgar estas folhas ao meio, mascar-lhes os cantos,
queimá-las com chá a ferver e, depois de secas,
incendiá-las como Jeanne d'Arc
Lamenta-as, bispo de Beauvais,
- foste tu quem ditou a sorte
dos virgens rectângulos
Quando terminarem as folhas,
passarei ao tecido que me envolve
membros e torso.
Não envergarei
nada sobre a pele
além dos vergões da revolta.