Before they preach me on the cross
and set my body on fire,
I declare that I love heresy.
I crossed souls without light,
rough roads,
but in memory I only keep poetry.
My horizons are filled with blues,
I do not carry inert weights.
My deserts smell of sea air berry.
I have uncertain boundaries.
My address is tentative.
My roads are open.
I inhabit a wide territory.
I should react better to kicks,
give up my long repertoire
I was not at the bottom of the pit
My smile is broad and compulsory.
I composed badly drawn and wrong lines
With my illusory despair
that despite the irony of this section
You can use them as an accessory.
From you I inherited irreverence and rebellion
I do not make myself holy and blessed
With arrogance and stubbornness
I face the demons and I do not follow the march, sorry!
I'm going to search for the surprise of the day
in the hope that the self-taught vein
draw with impatience and irony
and make up for the pinch of sensible cruelty story.
My verse is volatile, voluble, enjoyable, and useless.
My direct verb exhorts devils and pagans
and absolves the sins of the futile world without glory.
My rebellious soul is anxious in essence
Do not deny it when I do not shut up and sweat
I accept that I am indomitable by resistance country.
So I endure
the pains of loneliness discovery.
Nathalia
Leão Garcia
May 29th,
2019.
