hoje a noite é simplesmente noite
escura, opaca, velha
do lado de fora da janela, furada
nela boiando uma lua, simplesmente lua
sem fios, conjunções, pendurada
pobres posters dos mortos de amor
How is it, when we cannot escape?
When life assumes so incredibly huge proportions that one simply cannot stop it?
That is us, when masks remain for so long over our faces that we forget what is under it.
And here comes my solution: one should appear naked on a blind spot and ask oneself: how do I stack up now?
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