WOMEN IN BLACK

Text by Alceu Natali, copyright protected by Law 9610/98

Outside she dresses in mourning with diatomic derring-do, She is chic, Charming, Downright stunning, Inside she hides herself with no chromatic flamboyance, She is all mystery, All sortilege, All complexily adultery, She shows up in bizarre dreams some men have once in a blue moon, She is sinister with the left hand, Remote viewing with clairvoyant eyes, Magical with an intuitive mind, She lets her pleated skirt fall between her knees and feet, She is sharp, Scholarly, Erotically classy, She raises the lampshade skirt between her tighs and navel, She is bold, Crazy looking, And has a learnt by heart chat, A hasty man will not spare that woman wearing a nightgown-like dress, Available for love anywhere, Not even that both ways swinger with sunglasses and clad in rompers, Willing to win the body slipped in a suit with a head covered by a top hat, Outside she is impermeable and hangs on to black heat, She is steadfast, Almost inexpugnable, She deconstructs herself in colors, Inside she pierces through and radiates white light, She is loyal, Almost angelical, But does not discompose the monochromatic artifices, She is the very bizarre dreams some men have once in a lifetime and another in death, A sudden appearance, An enigmatic behavior, A surprising vanishing, She lowers her pleated skirt between her tights and shins, Knotty treatment, Stepping on, She rises the wrinkled skirt between her knees and groins, Remarkable restraint, Extroverted volition, Freed from compromise, She is fun, The oportunist man will not dismiss the exotic woman with a hat and transparent clothes, Standing by for a smart talk, Not even the teenager with braided hair, Ready to dovetail the one with a big bow tie on her frontal waist and with a look of oh, drive me crazy.

SEASON'S GREETINGS

 

Text by Alceu Natali, copyright protected by Law 9610/98

Where are you spending Christmas? On the mountains? In my immense longing for you? This distance unable to speak with our eyes, won't stop us from exchanging fake gifts. I did wish Jesus really existed and was born on this 25th of December, celebrating the resurrection of a Babylonian god. I couldn't grow up like him, and for much longer than his brief childhood, My wasted years are lost in the time he didn't have, and like him, my life can't escape the mythological cave. You know more than a little about this. In how many of my dreams have you been? In how many of my thoughts and promises? Only god knows that this may be the last time I intend to deceive myself. Only he decides when my luck ends, as he does with death. Only I can decide when I must reinvent myself before the scythe lady comes to take me for a ride underground. Where are you you spending New Year's Day? On the ocean plains? In my messianic expectations? I'll make vows of change, I'll pay for the new and the old, Take down my tree on the sixth day, Of the kings who lost their primacy at the Council of Nicaea, I wish I had been born in your place, And you wouldn't exist to be disappointed with me.