O cavaleiro da triste figura.

Eu o queria, mas estava destinada ao suplício, assim como Tântalo. O ciúme me toma por completo e as histórias que pedi uma noite para que me contasse, agora me arrancam o sono.
7 degraus de escadas. E eu imagino lindos seios claros e cabelos bastante negros que sequer chegaram a derramar gotas de suor - aquelas que brotam quando fazemos amor de modo desesperado. Ele viveu por aquilo. Eu não Vivi. Então vejo ele mordendo os lábios e de seus olhos restam uma tênue tira branca. Vem o gozo, porque o prazer significa adorar.
A grandiosa estrela da manhã vem ofuscar o resto da sombra de tantas palavras jorradas da boca daquela menina, quando não havia luz. Mais um ano de vida entre as pernas de alguém. Foracidade feliz que também veio do toque das mãos.
Ela vive. Eu não.

...

Seus lábios são labirintos
que atraem meus instintos mais
sacanas

Traição.

Acontece que desejo tanto que tenho estado retraída e amedrontada. Possivelmente meus atos têm feito de mim prisioneira de minha própria consciência. Não nego terem sido fantásticas e voluptosas essas minhas aventuras, entretanto, sinceramente creio que hão de ser as causas de minha queda. Voo tão alto e sei que cairei como Ícaro - pelo calor do sol.
Tantas tem sido as vezes que tem sido uma segunda opção e tenho deixado me levar por impulsos e carinhos suaves das ondas. Meu corpo de areia é jogado pela minha alma de vento. Todas as noites me afogo no mar, meu corpo é envolvido e na manhã seguinte tenho olhos de ressaca. Sem dizer a verdade não traio somente a ele.

Ao acaso caído num mar de sentir
Sem sentido nadando em qualquer direção
Um ponto humano, na imensidão, a nau flagrava

Estendida, a mão, para fora
Exibia o que o corpo ancorava

Como uma outra mão, lhe roçava os dedos o bote
E assim foi escalada a corda
Onde se sentia pele macia de seio de mulher

No fim da corda
Na parede do casco
Estampado um nome de garota

Olhou para cima, comtemplou o céu estrelado em movimento:
Não há porto que seja mais seguro do que feminino convés!
Deitou-se, desnudo, desnaufragado e o principal...
Destinado.

Mary Anne.

Eu te amo.

Seu amor me furta

Seu horror me encanta

Minha vida é curta

Minha fome é tanta


Minha carne é fraca

Minha paz é louca

Minha dor é farta

Minha parte é pouca


Minha cova é rasa

Meu lamento é mudo

Seu amor me arrasa

Sua ausência é tudo


Minha sorte é cega

Sua luz me esconde

Minha morte é certa

Meu lugar é onde


Seu carinho é pena

Seu amor é mando

Minha falta é plena

Minha vez é quando.

Cacaso.

The Raven

(by Edgar Allan Poe,
first published in 1845)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;


Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,


Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.


This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you." Here I opened wide the door;---


Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,


"Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.


" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,


Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."


Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,


With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered,"Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."


Then the bird said,"Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore


Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;,
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore


Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er


She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"


Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"


Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?


Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"


Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor


Shall be lifted--- nevermore!

Intermitência do ser.

Mamãe disse pra não falar com estranhos, então eu não falei. Obediente, resignada e submissa; bebi cada palavra que fluiu da boca daquela mulher que cheirava à cozinha. Morri muda, sem ao menos falar comigo.

Mary Anne.