domingo, 6 de fevereiro de 2011


My slightly unfortunate soul
What torns crawl up your body today?

Redish blood flows in your space
And space is dissolved in your thoughts
The ache of thinking gets loud
The rope becomes gently tighter

My torn runs deeply within
And it is older than me

This sum of all that is gray
Walks hand in hand with the dust
And the excruciating beauty of a leaf
Becomes an oldman’s dying wish

Your fortune is indeed inexistent
I weep and regoice for your nightless day

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