blog • eduardo furbino |||
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blog • eduardo furbino
manchete prosa & português sabe, te encontrei como se encontra uma revista empapada de páginas não lidas ainda cheirando a banca de jornal (seu osvaldo nunca me vendeu há uma ausência incômoda de tigres nas ruas prosa & português os carros que digerem lentamente suas presas em seu interior bem poderiam, se quisessem, dar lugar a bermudas prosa & português 12 de novembro de 1962 querida cássia, aqui todos andam desesperadoramente vestidos. não há, em nenhuma praia, sob nenhuma ótica, quem não your legs are so long poesia & inglês they should come with their own elevator i don’t know from which cave of my brain nick cave took this line from ’cause yeah you must remember to be kind poesia & inglês what kind of guy am i? what’s this smile on my face? i sit on a bench in the closest park i watch the doves fly and I still don’t know what kind of what’s going on? poesia & inglês i wonder what your true name is and why do i call you blank space since we met since we developed this new age thing that is going on between us a this my most fundamental truth poesia & inglês yes i’m gonna say it but are you ready? yes this: i wasn’t sure i was talking but you you surely were listening the waves of the end poesia & inglês had yet to materialize but even then we could feel a slight change in the tide the war poesia & inglês you ask the impossible you’ve grown up believing in angels & gods i can’t keep promises i was designed to fail this is the truth and yet you’d the void poesia & inglês it’s had many names, the void: longing, the abrupt loss of interest, what was never there, what ceased to be. but one thing we never called it, one the time of death poesia & inglês it was the time of death but we we turned back the clock the sixth day poesia & inglês from the rags of my skin comes my story clawing my flesh & muscles crushing my skull and bones while my head burns as wildfire and i stare into the the once and future king poesia & inglês you’re objectified by your feelings a ball changing hands all the time dropping on the floor being kicked by the children you’re the byproduct of the message poesia & inglês this i knew: god was absent and her son had messed up the message when he came unto us he was to have taught that we have the right of coming too the limit poesia & inglês this is not patti smith this is the limit yes there’s a limit this is the edge one step more and you could drop dead this is the abyss a cliff a the leap poesia & inglês find me fuck me once more force me to do things i don’t want (as long as i want to) follow me to the abyss jump and fall fall fall while i stop at the blue room poesia & inglês my father once told me that to die is to live a sequence of a thousand departures to mourn the ones we’ve lost on the way to dig graves for unborn telephone poesia & inglês note that I didn’t call before ’cause everything is a mess these days dialing… do you know how hard it is? phones ringing like sonorous metaphors seeds poesia & inglês she came in the night her shadow all made of light bolts coming out of her eyes she had a hard & thick skin the soil where i chose to plant my rage poesia & inglês i welcome my rage as an old friend we drink coffee together we discuss the many wars the constant hungry what i’ve done with myself we hug each próxima página