I’m a son of time!
My mind is not truly mine
And this life is not significant
For I’m not a son of mine…
Mine are those memories before time
Deeply scared in a place hidden beneath the surface of my identity
Of an infancy, of a nursing by a vast southern plain
Of brotherhood with my own self, my poem self and my silent golden music
Images not of this world but of a common universal conscious
Smells and lands and tastes carried by a untraceable wind
The sensual infantile movement of an untrailed path
A naked back, the weariness of the travel home
Smile and smile and sing,
Yes, you who reads, bring me back to life,
Me, the undead, me, the not me, give me life for a moment before you take it from me again!
I am not me for I don’t own me
My identity owns me and that is the truth
My identity is the truth
I do not exist and I am a lie
I am not what I think but what I am thought
And I am thought for one second long
My body is as real as my soul
My body is the soul that my soul does not manage to be
I am body and not soul
I am not a kiss from a pretty girl
I am a rugged carpet, moss growing in a rolling stone,
Yet even my body betrays me,
I am moulded and I am broken
To fabricate me is to destroy me!
Mine is only the Inexistence total
This poem is not mine
I am not what I am
I am all that I am not
And the gods do not own me for they already own me
What can they own of nothingness? Nothing at all!
I search, not a place nor a time but a feeling,
A home, a smell and a vision, I look into myself
I bend over myself and see nothing but another speaking of me
Where is my home? Where is that youth that I never had but owned
In my dreams, I sense it and I am sensitive
Who’s that home?
. 091009
. Tempo
. K.O.ALA
. (...)
. Onanismo
. Sinos tocam no horizonte ...
. Origem
. Onanismo
. Reflexos... pensamentos, ...
. Descrições de Uma Planaçã...
. A Título