Não sei como vieste, mas deve haver um caminho para regressar da morte. Estás sentada no jardim, as mãos no regaço cheias de doçura, os olhos pousados nas últimas rosas dos grandes e calmos dias de setembro.
Que música escutas tão atentamente que não dás por mim? Que bosque, ou rio, ou mar? Ou é dentro de ti que tudo canta ainda?
Queria falar contigo, dizer-te apenas que estou aqui, mas tenho medo, medo que toda a música cesse e tu não possas mais olhar as rosas. Medo de quebrar o fio com que teces os dias sem memória.
Com que palavras ou beijos ou lágrimas se acordam os mortos sem os ferir, sem os trazer a esta espuma negra onde corpos e corpos se repetem, parcimoniosamente, no meio de sombras?
Deixa-te estar assim, ó cheia de doçura, sentada, olhando as rosas, e tão alheia que nem dás por mim.
Os amantes sem dinheiro
Tinham o rosto aberto a quem passava Tinham lendas e mitos e frio no coração. Tinham jardins onde a lua passeava de mãos dadas com a água e um anjo de pedra por irmão. Tinha como toda a gente o milagre de cada dia escorrendo pelos telhados; e olhos de oiro onde ardiam os sonhos mais tresmalhados.
Tinham fome e sede como os bichos, e silêncio à roda dos seus passos, mas a cada gesto que faziam um pássaro nascia dos seus dedos e deslumbrado penetrava nos espaços.
"Always remember to keep your river on the right..."
“First he tried to be pure now he just wants a cure
He's wasted, his skin's sore, he's flat-out poor
When you live in doubt that's when your luck runs out
He's on the roof alone, outside the zone
Now he's on the street again when he calls him then
Billy just cannot resist
Now he's an orphan sleeping with the coffins
Just like Oliver Twist”
(Falling down Laughing)
From: Jim Carroll Band - Dry Dreams (1982) LP Vinyl
Opening Poem: Lorraine
Seven blonde women
They gather in the square
They raise their hands up to the sun
Their skin is so thin and white
You know their fathers must surely be wealthy
I watch the others stand around and form a crucifix
A serpent of vapor
Some stray birds rise
The one on the end, the fine one on the end
She called me over, she pulled me aside
She said, You know, I have to make it all look different
It seems that every time I lay down
On it, and its like a snake in water
And when I look out of it,
It's like the one from last week
Was breathing again
And she said she had some white light
You know, she said that she had some morphine
But she didn't have no gimmicks
So she just took this razor
And she laid it on a white vein
And then she took a black orchid
And she just ripped apart that flower
And then she took the white light
Then she said, Hey, later for the morphine
She took the razor and slit open her white vein
She slit open her white vein
She put the flower through the slit vein
She poured the white light through the red stem
She put the white light through the red stem
She just poured it through the red stem
I was talkin' with my angel
I was talkin' with my angel then . .
Nas vozes dos campestres ouve-se anunciar que através dos bosques virá uma nova companhia de teatro à terra Falar-nos-á de tenras ilusões? Ou nos fará rir? Com os seus jograis esquecidos na indiferença da audiência e as suas actrizes, calêndulas serenas no limiar da noite sonhando com o gato do Cheshire.
Vejo nas suas crianças que brincam na relva a policromia que alimenta a imaginação nos dias baços que rejuvenesce nesta mensagem e na sensação de sentir que chegou a hora para nos amarmos
Vejo por detrás desse teu véu prateado bem nítidas, as origens das nossas esperanças jogos entre luz e escuridão sensações de me dividir intimamente nas vidas paralelas que me fizeram esquecer de ti...
Ventos de norte que sopram de novo
O sopro madrigal pelas manhãs de nevoeiro a revolta dos sentidos no terminar da planície, uma nova paisagem recomeça outrora esquecida neste vasto mundo de sucessivas imagens lacónicas.
Espíritos indígenas reconhecem-se, nas distâncias recônditas do mundo o apego que se encontrava a Este, escutado no lamento do ermita pelas horas do desassossego Cavalos seguem vagueando pelas planícies
C’est le Amour Fou arriving for us, passengers in the prime of our passions come hither, all words shall be drawned in walls - but the essence,yet is still to be found. quite amused I rediscovered a fleeting memory, recalling the wild beauty which whispered at me with her long untidy hair full of leaves...
“Lover, you can go to sleep now… I’ll soon be back again!”
This is for you it is my full heart it is the book I meant to read you when we were old Now I am a shadow I am restless as an empire You are the woman who released me I saw you watching the moon you did not hesitate to love me with it I saw you honouring the wind-flowers caught in the rocks you loved me with them At night I saw you dance alone on the small wet pebbles of the shoreline and you welcomed me into the circle more than a guest All this happened in the truth of time in the truth of flesh I saw you with a child you brought me to this perfume and his visions without demand of blood On so many wooden tables adorned with food and candles a thousand sacraments which you carried in your basket I visited my clay I visited my birth and you guarded my back as I became small and frightened enough to be born again I wanted you for your beauty and you gave me more than yourself you shared your beauty this I only learned tonight as I recall the mirrors you walked away from after you had given them whatever they claimed for my initiation Now I am a shadow I long for the boundaries of my wandering and I move with the energy of your prayer and I move in the direction of your prayer for you are kneeling like a bouquet in a cave of a bone behind my forehead and I move toward a love you have dreamed for me
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