Therefore I exist

Let's see: the inconstancy of things is the core of our quest for the balance we never reach

and that quest makes us materially fleeting, always at a fringe of the intangible, always falling short of the moment, brief, plausible.

I speak with uncertainty of the roundness held by the words when we recall the softness of a meridional moon, the glare of greasy hair rippling, speaks to me within eyelids that uncover

I speak artificially of the nights' roundness and her eternal light, in lukewarm breasts that I fondle, I speak to you, now, so round, soft and complete between breathed commas and though subordinated, included prepositions

I think as a delicacy that one devours, slowly, I approach you as a shadow looking for shelter in a plain, of such brightness, obscene, I squeeze you until the skyline's accuracy, where you decay, resting and I find you again in the dodged ramble of my committed hands

I think you, therefore I exist!

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho

Not That Man

Not That Man

After digging squares of alien existence, simulating a mechanical journey, driven between green meadows, cattle and orange concrete juice, he realized the place
simply
was not fit for his dying.

Delicious, forbidden hours
were left
neglected behind practical, functional, time framed issues.
Every insignificant detail was taken care of, smoothly, planned in advance, beyond a rising midnight sun or a technical orgy. But for him, only one thing mattered:
No place is good for a living if it ain't  worth to die in.

The air needs space! blue and green space need real earth, the sort you get your hands dirty with, to
breathe and die all year round.

I found one such place                    but I am not that man.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho