Burlantim

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Burlantim is a strange word. But the poem goes afar...

Submitted: March 27, 2008

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Submitted: March 27, 2008

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Burlantin
Say you're in love
everybody must get stonned
say 'laugh of our lives'
sing, hat rough voice,
sing
in here everybody must get stonned...,

draw conclusions on the wall, dylan said
true
like window glass

with this writing, sweet you
a face a company old smoker spitter
hot terracota roof morning the sun
they are here they have names
i can be a shaddow, but i've a name also
your babes eyes look crazy, the dylan says

my train empty stations
airports
docks
night sweat
be it
hong kong
be it this me
the hour that ship comes in, he says again

the answer might be blowing in the eastern wind, of no salt, no time, this time bob it just didn't fit

these i remember
light buoy reds
these are my harmonica blues
45 minutes of catamaran
river of pearls brown of the night
and other night boats chinese light
the dark side of the river (road), this that loneliness of grains of nothings of time, no more time than 45 mikes, boarder, passing card, ok, taxi, home – home?.

Hang keya.go. Taxi go, go.

What other name, Burlantim...deste sonho que teima em não ter fim.....

here streets are blue, neon blue, them they smell garbanna, or worse, mistify
russian  blonde, mellow thai, philippo joy, chinook fast and chinese opera on the tv, smell soap and min, fake fukian perfume, fake fake, old so fake than reality...than this
words are tasteless
words
words are in newspapers

never write that
just think you write

Burlantim de mais de mil caminhos
(há tempo a perder...nem há outra hipótese)
burlantins tantos, alguns icy whiskey lost poetry in turkey on the river flood ideas balls, the 7 in the corner, you 'faces of dust', what's next, rui?, where next, where? borakai? elas, the she of them all, rui cascais?, the beat goes on, the beat, what is the beat nel?, what? this that, there in taipa? here in loose words? time passes as clouds from NE heavy of water as always, dense north china, north of somewhere, always a North, a There!, smoke gets in your eyes, nel...,a waste land, tselliot, let's close jim & joe, nellie and rosita, angel kun yam eyes a lie your lies shine on me..bryan ferry singing the last, baby dolls boys dolls penis dolls vagina dolls dolls dollars money falling in cois brand new brand luxuria brand new last whiskey we got to know nel if there's something in here we gotta know, that moist close inner secret...of everyone that passed by on a night like this this........just this simple this...this nothing so full of nothings than smells like...acid hot soft cool sweet...rui, yep and the song that fly down from...those little small stars...,carlos, conversa sobre mulas, i guess?, no where to go but What Else?, his eyes round of dark alcool and worse love oh camillo pessanha like this like this narrow pane of the universe, opium it was they say, jealous guies, it all is and has to be macau inside out inside in in even in poverty and no imagination no art, part of a male dream part of no one's dream, two fuo tigers look into you, stone gray, no moss, what else rui? Fariña, your story teller? that Book, shit of that book, ok, ok, but high school thinking...i waz talking to me self, yet beer bottle on the boardwalk..You Are The Best Writers Macau Has!, shouted carlos, black crow carlos throwing his glass against the river stones...You mother...well love is a night, three shots in the night...carlos is not a bad writer at all, only he thinks he has to write, to say, to give a saying...bad, if you it happens to say that nothing void...rui green emerald eyes drunk ok but emerald the same way, you are a better writer then i will...i see that you see that and that's good, we're fellows on the same path....
the Trail


copyright by NFA 2008


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