AUTOBIOGRAPHY

there’s no need to tell, you know me
I lack a sure course, I find amusement on the treetops
blowing thoughts into the world under the spell of night.
people are other as they wake, you knew that already,
this contemporary misting of niggly fear
we mislay in cities and bodies, you joined
the game ahead of me, the music’s sulphur and the
bewitchment of the lake, brief innocent man who dreams
as well you know.
Then I hired the witch for a vast black night.
and my life changed, the night grew longer,
the vertigo burned into my arms till they bled
of tedium when I thought you’d be lost forever.
In the struggle I shed an arm or two,
more than I had. but this memory is a palace,
corals of the mind. gardens and ghosts,
profound and stratospheric child drinking
from the blade in its hands: no arms and now nothing.
you didn’t understand me, I let the furies loose.
it’s an art, I meant to say, killing without recall
or delay – ah those arms to stay the hands –,
without the hoarse fear without ground that is sparse.
reaping. saturn. and. the. wind. on. the. prow. lifting.
the: ship: over: the: sea: still: completely.
still. how shall I say? not to say, I am. a dreadful
and multiple life. And now I rest
lying on these hands that move
unsupported, you know, that rise from your eyes
in the morning.


Rui Costa. Aqui.