Monday, March 29, 2010


its glorious
and your skin in mine
is my skin in yours
you stay
if its bad
and sometimes unbearable
you stay
and then alone
will you know
its love

Thursday, March 11, 2010

still here

since you left me to my exile
i got pregnant of stones
gave birth to pure desire
and conceived the possibility
of existing beyond borders

just delicate dangers
stuck between narrow streets
that i never left

i conceived soil
and give birth over this city
as if my uterus isn't gone

since i stayed
i lay in bed with dangers

and I deliver


I smile, a still-born
smelling Lisbon in Ohio.

But next time
when I'm reborn

the poorest in-between droughts
and sterile land
God's laughing stock

I still won't leave
I'll stay I'll stay
for this
that you left me in
is nought

i fill in with delicate dangers
smelling Lisbon in Ohio

out of here

if i had leprosy
i could mail myself
out of here
by little
you'd only have to put back together
all the pieces
how much of a craftsman are you?

Monday, March 8, 2010

Sophia "Nunca mais servirei..." trans.

"nunca mais servirei Senhor que possa morrer"
never again will I love a Lord whom may die
never again will I serve a man who may die
never again will I serve Lord who may die
"nunca mais servirei Senhor"
never again will I serve a Lord
never again will I love Lord
never again will I love a man
"nunca mais servirei"
never again will I serve
never again will I love
never again


às vezes faltas-me no pronome reflexo
posto agora pronome oblíquo indireto

filhos da puta, (i wish i could insult them in English)

senão sair não é que morra pois que já morri
é que se me acaba a gana de os matar a todos
à pedrada
pela ignomínia com que me deixaram aqui
os filhos da puta
que hão-de morrer engasgados
com cada letra que a rir cuspi

Jorge de Sena, Poema V in Poesia III

"[... ] quando por ti clamo, neste silêncio
em que de ti fiquei
não é senão o libertar do encanto
que foste ao longe
à luz do mar aceso
e à luz que te recorta é que estou preso"

o silêncio

às vezes o silêncio é só um inferno de vozes
mas aqui
é o berço do nada
das viúvas esganadas
das meninas estrupradas
à vez
a quietude de
quem espera a bala
a flecha atravessada
pela garganta acesa
de todas as vozes caladas
aqui o silêncio é a capela
da minha casa
perdida nos pesadelos sonhados
onde deitada esperava  José Maria
de Ganso e Gançoso
que vinha na calada da noite
estrangular-me o choro
o silêncio da minha casa
aquietou-se aqui.

to no one

tired as the winds from Cape Verde over Fogo
trying time and again to blow it down
tired of the silence that even in cemiteries
is louder than in my house
weary of your forgotten voice
that lays together with Adrian, the Emperor
together in me
in my little soul
who will never see the light
one day
like all others
like his
oh no
i'm just tired of wondering if love letters
are still love letters when not read
by you
tired as the sands are tired
of shrieking
in Guincho

Sunday, March 7, 2010

in Portuguese

do not make me cry again
for tears will erase the traces of the lines
i drew across your body
paper where i inscribe the future
to be read by your future lovers
reflecting but glimpses of you
as i open my eyes from the dreams
we dreamt
to find them oblivious to your scent
porous skin where the ink rests
from the speed of my pen
writing rapid incisive certainly
you wanted me to say)

In the papyrus of your skin
where hieroglyphs that only i can decipher
consider the future
where no tears are shed
i cry not onto flimsy reflections
of you
i fear
so soon
sooner than anyone can see
though they will love me
maybe more maybe less

my love
you will depart much sooner than I
leaving me here
blowing the ashes
i can not keep

(for she won't let me)

so with her i'll scatter you over the sea

where i dive
while they know nothing of me
and you
and the tears we shed in-between
the sheets and the legs and the tongues
and the thousand words
blurred by the sweat of us
transferred onto the sheets
where I lay them
oblivious to me
and you
for none of them
none of them will ever read
and in none of them
none of them
will I write
in long curvaceous calligraphy
accompanying the shape
of your body
now ashes
over the roundness of the waves
you and I alone
the day
I recorded the whispers
you blew in my ear
so I would not forget

my dreamy Portuguese
but the words
we agreed to inscribe in her body



all gone
but the love of me
yet, I write not
in Portuguese

by Poseidon

mesmerizing under water
the flow from the currents
wrapping through her waist
and her mouth opened to
the cascade of drops
that drips from his mouth
onto the rivers
that flow through her
onto the sea
diving from the heights
swirling in the undercurrents
to simply be swallowed
by her
almost a mermaid
possessed by Poseidon
made waves and spume
diving into her
wanting to drown
just to spit the same water
into her mouth
all over again