sans bernardo

i.

under this bedding of lies

they die and without a body

ii.

he had been the last saint i beared bare on my lips

frozen feets by the creek, our warm hands at reach

through our candid christian-childhood it was no shame

blamed be the men in the many years that came in vain

blamed be the byways, the dirt roads and the railroads

the vile merchant ports surrounding our untouched eden

blamed be the bifröst of motorcycled heavenly angels

the schools, the schoolbooks, all the alien foreign culture

vessels of the pleasure and beauty that made me bye

to valhalla, the valourous city, to the valleys of knowing

to turn myself into a horrifying hornet-bachelor of phalli

not a note, not a letter, not anything telling him where

no way for the wicked to come back, not even a lighthouse

the midnight howlings didn’t echoed the harbor ashore

the walls of the night soundmirroed myriads of lost voices

so eager than mine, so much closer to their own strike

damn, for ten whole secs i forgot about the countryside

in our childishplay-playings, saying something like as

i don’t want to lose you like my father lost your father

but time, o the titanlike-tyrant Time on its own terms

it was like a twenty or so years sea sealed me homeless

til i sailed with no clue whatsoever to find me in my fury

til a merrily made choice by the moeræ, his marriage

someway invited, someway obliged, someway sublime

digital photos of the renewed rusts of our ruined family

fast as vengeance the V2 of my too delirious vanity ran

unhappy is love when love’s away, so so marvelous i was

waiting in the wings for weeks, rebuilding my old home

between the slow paced pack of mounts i wanted him

in the slow encounter of memories i renewed my hopes

under my mother’s used sheets where we both had ourselves

beside the decades of dust i whiffed off our bouquets of white

yellowing, yellowing, yellowing, yellowing it all, i am, i yelled

or imagined it, wanted to feel it above all, i began dreaming

said we've all been through some slacking, i, viperous witch

but he didn’t filled me with hope this time, only with flesh

unlike yesterdays when he used to fill me with himself fully

unlike like when i knew i could fit all of him in me selfishly

only for me to grasp the mad mnemonics of abandonment

we were all over each other for ever-present regained glory

i like a mad drone hovered over his obelisk, again and again 

over a monument recently erected, my mind’s only landmark

the only fucking thing to be seen above this ocean of none

the only way to be sane, the only site there for me to remain

cry for me, heaven’s eye, please cry, dusk-dew me with tears

he hot-waxed my face for i was cray in a crayon-drawn love

just another destruction, we can deal with it, we could make

but she was tilled, his seed would grow, was growing as we did it

never again would i play that game, never we, we sweared in vain

to swerve again and again and again and again and again and

i screamed and dreamed that i could break every ceramic around

do a grand and decadent old-fruit kind of frivolous spectacle

but i didn’t even touched any vase, i lied still in dreamland’s lane

all my life i lied to myself to totally tame my fantasies, now look

i dreadly and too late and well discovered that i was a distraction

no, go on now, not a tear, no requiem, guilty feet got no rhythm

yet i’m ashamed that i made of my life some Campbell’s bullshit

so just take me away Great Lord of my lonely loveless days

carry me in thine iron-hearted wings through this blue above

limitless, albeit they don’t beat, beaten down i sway on my seat

guiltglued to my window, farewell goodlands keen to my eyes

i had what i wanted and lost it in a close island-land like yours

hangovered i am, all the illusion alludes to escape my brain

and now the horizon rises without borders over my unhealed head

i’m vertiginously vanished into the vast valleys of my own will

street tuned, how morally torn, how i’ve become what i’m being

the sky rests shallow, a dozen lines scraped by buildings alike

the city sprawls downwards reaching my still unrocked roots

finally i do remember, compacted in a basement-apartment

fuck ’em, fuck him, fuck me, alone i’m dragged into the future

but now not even the standby’s red LED eyes stand by me

iii.

as says the static

[…]

i felt superior

i felt

(although i hadn’t)

as i had licence

to satisfy every need

every desire, every tension

and

this was just purely sexual adventure

sexual gratification this

yes

an

animal

sexual

gratification

yes

_______ i know that i’m sick

i’m not taking the potshot

i’m not attempting to charge homosexuals

i’m not a judge

i know

that inside

now

i’m sick

i’m sick

not only sexually, b u t

i n

a

l o t

o f

w a y s

the immature, childlike, way

and the sex part of it is a symptom

like a stomachache is a symptom

[…]

as the static says

iv.

as i was like watching old docuseries

something popped clear as crystal

shoot up shut up now soothe me

lend me some more absence in

let that one sink for the sheets

and bite my bliss no more

i beg you, don’t fuss me

don't make me sell out

all that corpse warmth

as you said, remember?

to safekeep my organs

inside a cold storage

don't whisper me again

all those sugary lies

neither somber ones

with my chest in a vice

or when all of our rooms

are in neither payments

there isn't a sweet redemption in hell

not even peace, not even the end of it

only the coldish clash of our bleeding

veins in third-world pavement cracks

there isn't time for saying goodbyes

neither bad ones, for all that matters

we rot raw here

but yet we thrive

i swear you

as you said

before believing

veins are kind of a magic-system under all this melanin, there's only touch

pro-testers protesting against the unavailability of a beta-version of the real

meanwhile someone die, some die, some die, again, someday alone

a brandnew designer-roof will recover unbearable pains of an old variety

the conquered laid down forever and their truths or lies sang no song

others say, o long live the kin, o how good we float when we’re empty

a toast to how long will live those whom the world is made for, to them

and we’ll bet what will take for the body to see the sea floor and get swarm

a few too many

yes, yes, yes, yes, we do the drugs

not without a loud and proud bang

v.

in a sixty-hundo condo

at the hat of the apple

of fate, a sudden blow

for hands to unravel

and a handwritten letter

all the way from São Paulo

2019 dez