Laura de Jesus & Pavlov's Dog

 

Constant November

Going to bed early or not sleeping at all.

It rains and it's cold. 

The house mourns and groans, 

twigs stick together 

to the robust structure. 

No other way 

that is not the one of the clash. 

Ice that immortalizes 

the weed is 

Wind that screams Winter 

In a viscous agony 

of dawn. 

Animals sleep 

in the wooden house, 

no longer doorless, 

it is spent in the service of years, 

Storing artifacts 

and artifices, 

chairs and tables 

of a hot summer., 

that we would like to resurrect. 

Tempus fugit. 

I imagine my city, 

at this time 

already full of traffic, horns 

and requests for tolerance, 

Buses full of people 

with bulging eyes, 

of remittances, 

Guys without gum or shine. 

Run 

people in sneakers and shorts

trench coat and 

umbrellas or umbrellas 

in puddles of water, 

against signboards, 

without warning, dawn broke,

Aged

Going 

pro service,

Against the grain, clueless

and not even a list of yellow pages

to consult, by your fingers

and the phone rings

-What is the phrase, the song, the request?

And the distracted customer, 

Clicking the command 

From the tobacco machine and nothing

- Look, today is Friday,

Forget the toast and jam

and bring me only coffee. 

Music invades

occupies, intones, resonates and softens

the humor! How horrible, if now this

turned the states 

A living room environment is installed 

airport, 

the yogurt on the next table, 

The bagasse on the counter, the newspaper

Ah, always the newspaper 

with the news of

centuries ago it continues to get dirty 

between the hands of others and 

The lord of the scooter leaves, 

I don't know

but I know it exists and I wear the kispo 

inside out and inside out and inside out

From the shudder to the shudder that doesn't

Iron the branch, I don't lie down 

And I neither sleep nor fall asleep

and maybe

may ask, by the way, 

A new Cimbalino 

and once again I close myself, 

I lock myself in the eclaire

with cutlery that the waiter brought,

- And what did the girl say?

- That I will be cured, 

I'm going to stop attending

pastry shops and terraces,

Cities Guettos

stop living past lives, 

and without further complaints, 

I'm going to fall asleep.

First, I'm going to want to 

The little song, please.

And when the day is high, 

You continue to produce

I was startled, 

on asphalt-blanket

you, working on stress and emptiness 

of a hidden future, 

perhaps without love,

already well stocked, 

already with your coffee taken

You talk to the maid, girlfriend. 

With that, you forget about toast

and I

I'll be full of nicotine

caffeine, diesel with additives,

To see you with the girl next to you

of pain from soul to soul, 

Such is the heart and do you not see?

(Now, see my luck,

I'm worse 

That a poor man's hat

Even the Abrunhosa chews the cud 

what will be my prose, 

My pity, my fate

and tells the foreigners that

- If you go to Porto, sneak out

of the city and get on the A4

Go North, go to Sapo)

Tired of seeing me rain, 

there you send me the order

From late November to now

while I was getting ready, he 

Call the girl blue and 

already in my room, I

I open the curtains, without fear,

of the day, of the cornucopia, of fate,

of insomnia I get into bed,

last cigarette in hand,

As I listen to the band

Bringing me momentum 

to my wounds.

who insist on persisting

that have not been requested,

Just like the song.