photo by françois biajoux
Paulo Brito lives in Barcelos, Portugal. He's been writing poetry and short stories since the age of 15 as a matter of mental hygiene. he loves reading the workrs of Rhys Hughes and David Soares. His influences are immense because he's always been a drinker of books.
the dry and agonizing noise of silence.
I turn on the radio,
a hollow voice flows from it
hurting my peace clamoring ears.
Absurdly I write these absurd lines
in the solitude of my bed.
I contemplate the macabre dance
of a blind goat that spins, spins and turns...
Dizzy... I close my eyes.
Lines intersect imprisoning me.
Colors struggle with the black mournfully darkness,
they sting and strafe incessantly without respite.
I scream............................................... satisfaction!
I open my eyes,
the dance's actors... dead.
The curtain rises gracefully
and I discover an owl looking into me.
I shoo him, I shoo myself.
I raise the dead.
who resume the macabre dance...
The guillotine descends solidary upon me
and the blade enjoying separates me to infinity...
I reach the spiritual orgasm
and I find God undercover by a cloud pleasing himself.
Angels have no sex!
I wake up and laugh satisfied.
in paper I write the dream
and the dream made of paper comes alive.
A black light invades my room.
Closed eyes... I fall asleep.
I dream ...
I Definitely play with the words, with life !!!???