O rare and perfect creature
Who has made your nest in me
I'm on my way home to you
singing with the lips
you bloodied out of jealousy
I am your world
I am your wall
You are the last scorpion
Who never longed to be a man
It is only in my heart
that you can dream
of your relentless invasion
of the sunlit plain
when you moved among the
numberless
and a woman far more beautiful than
I am
was your invisible queen
Scorpion scorpion
master of the hollow stone
I will not let them crush you
I do not like their reasons
My heart is numb and swollen
from keeping you
in the safety of your anger
I never could foretell
the loyalty that would claim me
They will not wear you on a
brooch
they will not watch you
in a paperweight
I am your dominion
I am your exercise
You hate the world I visit
and I am punished
by your solitary truth
Everything you say
about the world is true
DE QUE FOI QUE ME LEMBREI AGORA, MESMO? DO CÁRCERE CONSENTIDO? DO QUE NÃO PODE SER DECLARADO, EM QUE NÃO CONVÉM PENSAR? QUE NÃO SE CALCULA, PORQUE É FRIO E FAZ VIRAREM OS PESCOÇOS? E PORQUE É MAU, ÀS VEZES, A GENTE CONDENAR A PRECISÃO DOS DETALHES? HÁ DOIS (MENOS?) MESES QUE RACHEI O VIDRO DO PESO DE PAPEL. E O QUE PARECIA CELA, MAS ERA ESCOLHA ENCHEU OS QUARTOS. TODOS OS QUARTOS POR ONDE EU PISO.
