João Tomaz Parreira

She pours water in its feet.
When she dances with her flames
puts out of her mouth
the tired heart.
...

the hand slips(in the love things
the same hand that it dries the tears) and
to do to explode the silence
the hand(that invents new rhythms
...

Picasso gives us Things
which disorganize our eyes
The lines fly parallel
but later they break away
...

The lines produce
the simple things
the world
Its lines are not
...

Man and bull disarm
one another
bodies touch
as arrows
...

«Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands»
e.e.cummings
...

We wait for to cross the crowd
on the beach, we cross arms
photographic legs, breasts
raised for the fire of the beauty
...

I like what you're trying to do –
this one
is a few drafts away from
...

Dying/Is an art, like everything else.
Sylvia Plath
...

I listen to this river
seated
in the border
I wash my feet
...

All the branches that I observe
lie

Lying today in the wind
...

Three legs of the Steinway
raise a symphony of birds
in the veins above of the floor
...

When you were with me
I never could die

My eyes wandered
...

You made your lips more real
with lipstick, your red
lips
swallow a balcony
...

Odysseus who walked in circles
in the sea and arrested the body
and its ears
to the mast of the ship
...

Our breasts are on strike
Our legs
they do not fly far away
until the man's dream
...

Paris nessa noite tinha
a luz distribuída pelas gotas da chuva.

Sartre e Beauvoir não estavam lá.
...

Fernando Pessoa died
in the Bairro Alto
he put glasses on the table
for ever, three days
...

The ghost of bebop
from 52nd Street,
left footprints in the snow.
...

A car door slamming in the night
John Ashbery

Your noise
...