chickenblog

novembro 30, 2009 § Deixe um comentário

 

/esse cara é demais.

Anúncios

unsoundable

novembro 30, 2009 § Deixe um comentário

about writing poetry

novembro 29, 2009 § Deixe um comentário

I don’t know shit about it.

and like most of the people who I might find around

somewhere

they might say:

“I think you’re overreacting”

 

 

I don’t know

 

 

I haven’t met them yet

clear and simple, indeed

novembro 28, 2009 § Deixe um comentário

 

 

House of rising sun

novembro 27, 2009 § Deixe um comentário

/um show de expressão. música linda, btw

Para um amor no Recife

novembro 25, 2009 § 1 comentário

 

A razão porque mando um sorriso
E não corro
É que andei levando a vida
Quase morto
Quero fechar a ferida
Quero estancar o sangue
E sepultar bem longe
O que restou da camisa
Colorida que cobria minha dor
Meu amor eu não esqueço
Não se esqueça por favor
Que voltarei depressa
Tão logo a noite acabe
Tão logo este tempo passe
Para beijar você

 

 

pra sophia [e pro jeito das suas poesias]

novembro 25, 2009 § 1 comentário

WHITE INSISTENCE

 

Aldona and Peter K. gradually disappeared from our lives. Until many years later. My mother and father and I were visiting a distant relative in a distant city, and the K. family, Mr. and Mrs. K. that is, dwelled next door. The three of us decided to knock. Mrs. K. remembered us, and invited us in to a dark living room made darker by drawn shades. Yes almost every object was white. There were so many white objects I myself began to feel like a night bulb. She did not stop talking. She would ask a question of us and then quickly proceed to another story about Peter K. and Aldona. Every sentence began to feel like a tangent, and the four of us began to feel completely tangential to everything, all sense of time, except this dark room with white. It was both suffocating and beautiful. I wondered finally if she remembered us at all, not as if she had an illness but because of her white insistence. Her hair white, her dress white, her shoes white, her words white. When white photographs began to be sought form white drawers the three of us visitors stood in rare unison and uttered perfunctories as we moved toward the door. She was still white when we returned to the world outside insistence. And her door closed as a shadow.

 

[BURKARD, Michael[

 

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