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In the long night veins nerves muscles scars and other tissues throb on me spontaneous sperm like a water spring drop by drop oozed on a stone's abdomen. Petrified in granite I shine quartz crystals will-o'-the-wisp over the sleep tomb where I

A-dos-Ruivos non-amazing weekend at the no feast village nor rockets excitement I rest at the porch surrounded by flowers wind golden dust heat of June cumulus clouds over the horizon useless flying insects as books from Fernando Pessoa and all his

The inclined slope is brief and fleeting in its declivity vertical trees at the background horizon insert themselves into the terrain drawing angles. A tired glance towards origin into the womb to the parched and paltry land where cattle flies

Seated on the coach the ideas rapidly get inebriated of sleep and fall asleep rocked by the background noise of the TV set noticing a difficult world to face with open eyes because it's more and more black and over warmed by nightmares retained at the