agonia portugues v3 |
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Artigo Comunidades Concurso Crônica Multimídia Pessoais Poesia Imprensa Prosa _QUOTE Roteiro Especial | ||||||
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agonia ![]()
■ A 8th Bienal do Douro sem limites ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Contato |
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-09-25 | [Este texto deve ser lido em english] |
Oh, I could absorb that man-
like so many thousand grains of monsoon-perfumed rice softening to wedding pearls in a black iron pot. I could suck that man in through my pores, like scorched sesame seed oil taken in through petal-thin skin, and scraped, burning, into heaving lungs. I could wipe him up off the splintered floor with my metre-long hair. I could grow around him, in a tortured embrace, like a two-hundred-year-old Morton Bay fig around a slab of guano-speckled granite. I could burn him to white willow ash in my furnace to make a lye of his secrets and silences. I could be the fuzzed green corset, and he could be the violet bud, crippled with waiting. I could be the petrol-smear wipe of a dirty rainbow, and he could be the oiled leaves of the khaki tree-tops. I could be the airmail-blue shell, and he could be the folded bird. I could be the grey charity blankets, and he could be the grateful sleep. I could be the gulping throat, and he could be the bright, unripe wine. I hurt with a catgut of longing every plinked,every plonked, every pizzicato second of the high-strung day. Every twitch of the nervous hands of my wrist-watch is a tiny tack of wanting tapped into place. And how did I ever get myself kidnapped? marooned in this jungly outpost? I met him. I stood in one place. The rest of the tangled, strangled collision was already mapped.
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