quinta-feira, 21 de julho de 2011

ALMaNaqUe oNìRiCO

                                                                                             Estava 
                                                                                                                               Parada
                                                                 sEm lÓGIca HabITuAL            
                                              Aproximava-se semgica
                                                                         Em minha frente

                                                                      E voltava

                       Gritos de agonia

      Quando falava

        Não havia como fugir

                          CaMAs de gAtO  nos impediam

                                                      Mãos pálidas

                                                                                                         Algo olhava do alto

                                                                                                               Nuvens apressadas

                                                                                                                     Ela estava
                                                                                                              chamava

                                                                      O silêncio se fazia enterrado

                                                     Quando calafrios se partiam

                                                                       Girava e girava
                                                                                  CeNa                                  E com as lidas mãos

                                               Menforcava

 E antes da edição de domingo

Cho-vIa, isso era bom


ABSTRACT

almanac


She was there
stop
Approached without logic
In front of me
And back
Agonized shrieks
when he spoke


There was no escaping
Grids prevented us
pale hands
Something looked from above
clouds rushed
She was there
And I called
The silence was profound
When snapped chills


Whirled around and around
And with the pale hands
hang me
And before the Sunday edition
It rained, it was good