Haja Poesia!

lara zancoul

There is poetry! (Patricia Porto)

how often bitter
It is the tea
the vampire camped in the garden
of the House

how many times death
It is playing deaf,
and clenched teeth

how often the fall is the thin ice,
and the beating of man
is the melting of the earth,
meat in the threaded nail

the hall of a hospice, a noble building
the valve and exhaust, the window to open,
women are fleshy to the bites

with his neck in his hand - he says:
- How many feathers fly? Hundred? Two hundred?

if a volcano erupts
burning liver,
the mouth, that degenerates
and purple
as violent blossom