Sing for Her, Dance for Her.

I cry beneath the shores of otherness,
nothing remains but a mocking bird bleeding.
The bleeding rises as a tongue of madness,
away from the dust the madness grows wildly.
Black hair among my fingertips makes me crawl,
black roses wash my veins in the soft rain.
She always says no to a despair not silent.
Naked earth becomes a bed were insects germinate,
naked bodies eat the soil in tender cruelty.
Digging, the red man falls over and over,
merciful pits of wind carry the gateless dream.
The eye sticks a sharp tooth near the sands,
horned laughters rampage the shadows of sorrow.
Fastly she grows longer and wider in the beasts
of mourning, away from sleeps where eternity
waits placidly, running from stone to dove,
running from dove to stone, mounting slime
from bed to blossom, from blossom to bed
a trail of pearls draws lost fingernails away.
No breath may utter the excessive voice.
No reason may know where the skin of birth
will shed and deviate until the hands stumble,
no flowers or rivers will wash aridity dry.
Mould, grasping ever too much and widely,
grasping a whisper of lungs closing to rest.
Closing to wet the humid carcass of man
secretions of moistness make the fungus grow.
Listen while the body grows red and warm,
semen in the gateless dreams of blood and bone.
Twilight flushes of murmur itch Her mark alive,
tears appart become cascading hearts of weep,
gladly devouring the sins of your longing mourn.
Silent demons breed the nurturing of tomorrow.
And you know, for sure as I do, this is true.
To seduce do nothing, and keep no thing.

Hugo Calhim Cristovão


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