segunda-feira, 10 de setembro de 2012

A sudden Unspeakable Sweat Floweth Down my Skin

He gazes, perhaps he blames

Sweat. It's just sweat. But I do like to look at them.
Youth is a dream where I go every night
and wake with just this little jumping bunch of arteries in my hand
Hard, darling, to be sent behind their borders.
Carrying a stone in each eye.

Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry, Vintage Books, 1995

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