casao hálito quente da cidadedesagua na gargantae as sombras alinham-seumas sobre as outras;é noite, e eu não te vejopara além dos incêndios;Junho alonga-se nos corpose a casa torna-se um lugar onde me percopor nunca lá ter chegado por inteiro.
The InspectionAbove us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.- Ted Kooser*The guests have now arrivedat my front neighbor's door,seemingly unexpected.In the distance, and ripe with light,the farmers swing their lanternsto the West, and welcome mothsby the hundreds;the wind reminds them of life.Through the naked living room window,I can see her brushing rivers of dustfrom her family photographs in a hurry,pretending that her husbandis not just a shadowforever caressing her faceas she sleeps.She looks straight at me and stops,her eyes like two suddenly lit starsin the cracked highways of her face,and for a moment, a dec
the way++I want to take my insides and turn them outBut I don't know howOnly that I need toOnly that I need a wayThey crawl under my skin, beggingIdeasI pace and paceTrying to get them out of my skinI write them, sing them, paint them, draw themI knit them, and type them, and kiss themI get high off of them when they are at a high pointI wait them out and play them before I go to sleepBut it is never quite rightThey leave my body too simple or with an extra head, mutatedI cry them, and eat them, yet still they remainI know if I could just find a wayOne of my biggest questions would be answeredAnd all they ask is t
control freakThere is a moment pastWhen everything is irrevocably out of controlThat relief is supposed to comeBecause there is nothing more to be doneBut the threads do not disappearI feel them tug me in every which directionAnd instead of the nothingness that comes with a new beginningI am trapped inside the everything of the ending.