let the birds take a chance on the floor before returning to sky .

by Caio Fernandes 2010

cold... good for tea and internal works with dreams, aquariums and cats over a dark surface.
the taste is purple on my lips.
i swallow it and feel silk, cotton....linen.... floating distant and clear.

He extends His Word once again for my heart.
my heart lies, liar liar liar, compulsive liar.
 i have to fill it with light.

the green under the moviments of the cold weather.
the 2 sides blade of my chest that opens new paths beyond the air.

the golden vibrations of a good friend's hair shining in my body and smile now.

sundely NOW became so precious , by pure acident.
i don't care if time, times , timeless are there somewhere.

let the dogs run till get exausted at the street.
let the cats sleep upon the aquariuns lamp because of the heat.
let the birds take a chance on the floor before returning to sky.

i am fine, thank you for asking .

hunting game and ballet .

Hunting Game, by Caio Fernandes 2010.


happy toes on cold floor smiling to the fresh breese that dances with the deep blue sky.
my expectatives listen if the water is ready for tea.

the dogs at the backyard predending that are sleeping together, they look like little lions... they want to make the cats get closer to jump on then. but the cats are hiden at the grapevine waiting the birds get closer to jump on then . and i am hiden behind the kitchen's door to jump on everyone and make then stop the hunting game.
- Go to find something better to do your rascals.

steps and spine in the silent routine of life ... wings fron distant waterfalls sing movements of clouds into my lips,mouth,jaw,troat.....as a ballet of dreans that are going to be dreamed yet.

there is a misterious sensation of moisten earth in my imagination pointing distances and pretending to be a pillow for my silence.