domingo, 25 de novembro de 2007

Urutao: The Phantom of Birds

Bitter is the Nile when the last free singing birds are to pull the pharao's rocks down by the riverside to throw them at the Abaeté lake, that infinite depth of dark waters surrounded by white sands.
The Pigeons are but Urutao ashes that in the nights search for a morning rebornt throughout combustion, writing on logs so when the winter year comes there will be poems to throw to the sky so only them will waterfall in the sea again.
In the concrete deserts drowning into the slipping sand the concrete rotator "nunca vi sertão ser tão sertão" Rosa fasten his ears to play a slow rain driping.
Drone
Throat is a tunnel with a well where those litlle birds sing in their search for acoustics, soundchimneys.
Hum contort in shame towards an animal in the middle of the park in the middle of the streets in the middle of the cities in the middle of the seea.
Imagination is in the Throat as a lightless mirror, along with other Urutaos who sing throughin the evenout. A unforgetable song is a phantom as well as a melody you can't remember - whipered to himself. At l'e'ast the nightingales...

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