Rien Mot

  Do not be there or somewhere between to    come without having gone Ion for away into the possible sense Orb the dream where Aion is making the time  Zion, utopia, a place not defined by a target that says it is here And what is cannot be while everything is displaced by promise from the unnamed being ethereal Joint you the soil messed of your heart and plant the unity of the green complementary Foam of stones in light  Calm beauty to beyond

If you are paying each step by month to rise to heaven, do not forget that there does not exist a reflex mirror to you  that you have here. Nature is being killed and no more exists a stone on a mountain that can bear you to see the wonder world. The tree by river shore was cutted, the roots won not to sprout again. What rests for you is a defective heart that beats and  insists knowing that it will go down in the dust. The flesh, the passion for anything, the taste to have any faith in human dignity is a plan on the plain of absurdity It is  the eternal void where hope comes from. So you have something unaudit  into a home of life where the words are like traces marking and falling within you, a memory from the absent Along your jorney together you is dying  the spirit in the passage of the time Does not meaning that the store of your hoping is locked Rising up beyond all those who saying what believing know Rising up in the air on abyss of your simple mere exi...

  Muito sol. Não dá como paralisar as ondas gelatinosas. Nenhum gelo; ao menos iceberg viesse. Balas de hortelã de cobre e latão enfiada na carne da areia, vejo isso desviando espumas ácidas. A coisa comum aparece. O canto morno. Tanta festa no dia desconhecido. Areias sórdidas se amontanhando, rindo, enchendo os bolsos. As nuvens fedorentas de sangue seco, deterioradas roem o infinito. A mesquinhez açucarada da violência está bêbada aos golpes. O dia morto atrás do chumbo grosso. Alguém, agorinha mata um pai. Ajoelha agradecendo vantagens. Almas miseráveis, bem vestidas passeiam arrastando cadáveres. Alegria extenuante de batucadas de glórias, gritam: vencemos, riem até cair a saliva em manchas de muco lançados, todos muito atentos aos ganhos imobiliários, enchendo a poça imunda das certezas planas da existência. E já morre outra vez o amanhecer e as esperanças escalvadas.