My heart’s flower has died

Nothing grows in that spot anymore

The lower I get, the deeper I dig

Life’s rite of passage is succumbing

Estou esculpindo a moldura modular

Escutando a textura pra poder tocar

A batida repentina é uma bebida forte

Grave frequência sem corte

Primordial para um som grande e saudável

A síntese é indomesticável

Não sou nem quero ser uma concha

Projetora de sons imaginários pra afagar a mente alheia

Se sou um invólucro é involuntário

Não posso ser uma coisa que não existe

Talvez eu seja só mais um animal, mas não quero ser a flora

Pisoteada ou mantida em redoma para admiração

Se eu tiver que ser extinta, ao menos segui meu instinto

I have a tendency to dwell on top of mountains looking down

Watching moving forms that could be people, I’m not sure

Missing them and fearing that encounter

Laying low there by the clouds

Sensitive to snow cascading slowly

Building up like laughter

I’m frozen in time

Unwitting monument to shame

Play a song for me, a pleasing sound that stays

A slowly crashing wave

A dark blue shadow in the afternoon

The monotone moontone is moving in time

I hear the hum. It hides me well.

Erupting timidly, a mountain of voices hoods my head

Covering my eyes to help me see with other senses

Faint.

I’ll dip my head and swim beneath the heavy, insistent instruments

Drenched, I’ll dance without drowning

I’m embraced by maternal noise

Every sound will join in, and nothing will get through

Still.

Can I be passion, the good side of red?

Instead of blazing blind rage

Dark, intentional smoke

Sizzling greedy

Hungry enough to bite

And savor it slowly

It doesn’t have to be complex

Or have clear cut acts

But a sensible, memorised path

A lovely means to an end

Wheels are heavy against aluminium floors
Breaking barely touched brand new pencils
Animals and machines move on all fours
Angels are static, their wings come from cheap stencils

In search of the lost grail
A sip from the chalice
Breadcrumbs along the trail
and a teacup for Alice

Repenting on paper
After taking a life over a banal motive
Homemade glue can’t take vapor
I’m almost done chiseling my votive

A fragile sugar sculpture
And another made of salt
Polarizing twins, a rupture
Of the nucleus at fault

This week’s overnight sensation
Has a familiar face
A passing resemblance but no relation
To the one she replaced

Tonight she’s playing with the band
Covered in golden paint
Tomorrow she’ll have vanished, never to be seen again
A corrupted, impossible saint

Each limb is an individual

With a mind of its own

Keeping up with a heartbeat takes practice

But the head is always listening

Dancing is one way to be a soldier

Going through the colors in a puddle on a sunny day

A portal daring to be discovered

An upturned light blue sky

Close your eyes to hold that warmth inside

A night trip is purple

A rite of passage to the older side

In the forest, I leave that child behind