À la Bukowski, but not quite

That redhead that fucks
through the ages
survives through time,
Spat on Charles, Oscar
some other meaningless poets and I,
has the nerve to present us
with those beautiful long toes
that crumble exactly like a failed poem
when she moans.

There are two types of women.
Both types are allowed in
my flat.
That includes my room
and every other shared rooms:
kitchen, bathroom, corridor and every other spherical lamp.
Shared, I said!
May no one enter her room!
that she doesn't even share with insects
and that includes cockroaches,
cockroaches, cockroaches and woodlice.
Oh the pure and the impure.
Oh that sweet and twisted balance in devotion.

Two types of women I suppose:
the ones that come to bang their head against the light
and the ones that come for the rotten food.

The ones that bang their head against the light starve their love to death.

But not this one, barefooted, the stratosphere is the sole of her feet
and what a soul, breaking my every lock with hair clips, sharp nails and a melting voice,
sliding underneath the door like previously inhaled smoke unable do find
its way out.
She will make sure to hit every step of the way with her big beautiful long left toe
and I will make sure I let my love be guided by this blind woman,
like a beautiful poem, wherever she may roam.

Diogo Baiao 17/10/2015

Aqui há fabrico próprio!

Metálico 

Constante e producente.

Peito para fora, barriga para dentro, barba aparada,

Mas não exageradamente 

E só o suficiente 

Para se perceberem os contornos da cara

Feitos pelo pêlo e não pela linha maxilar,

Facilmente confundida com o momento de quebrar a prosa e partir o verso. Deslocar a mandíbula...para quando?

Fazer poema, porque tem de ser!

Mas então, peito para fora, máquina producente 

E os versos a alargar, a fazer mover roldanas, 

Preenchidas por atacadores, a esticar a liberdade das articulações, cada vez mais livres até se deslocarem em dor. Livres na liberdade de sofrer a dor da obrigação.

Ah! Estava em vias de reproduzir. 

Peito para fora, ombros para trás, costas largas, cauda em leque, 

Movimentos aleatórios com a câmara focada no movimento 

Impaciente, rotativo e diagonal

Das rodas das camas do meu hospital

No qual, 

Por muito mais que se progrida

Filma-se sempre tudo a preto e branco 

Com lascas de tinta velha.

Que não nos percamos na linha de montagem.

A reprodução do "sério": peito para fora, centenas de olhos na ponta de centenas de penas alinhadas, como já disse, em leque!

Um espécime exemplar

Para uma companheira mal executada.

E estava eu a tentar reproduzir os acontecimentos.

Nunca se suspeitou que eu fosse humano.

Diogo Baião 3/4/2015

William's Admission

God reaps a harvest of tombstones
engraved with thoroughly assembled sentences
Words long invented
carefully placed in an order that makes sense
Not for the ones who’re dead
but for the ones who read

It is imperative to stop giving meaning to the lives of others
Sentences as a product of trade?
They should only remain with those who assembled them

for self consumption

Simões Baião 

Amar

Tenho dois pares de óculos

O primeiro para encontrar o segundo

e o segundo para ver

Pena que só tenho um coração

O mesmo para sentir e para sofrer

Sendo que sentir e sofrer

Não estão no mesmo plano

Mesmo que não dê para crer

ambos me dão prazer

É assim que eu amo

Diogo Baião 28/08/2014

Royal Greed

I was born in Lisbon,

In a London day.

(I still recall the rain, I must say).

And the Doctor, his holy grace,

Staired at me with such a glaze

And said:

" this child is upon a great curse

The worst of the worst.

This child is going to be a nurse."

You couldn't believe the tears running down my mother's face,

And despite all her efforts that would be my fate.

She burned out forests, but I wouldn't become a fireman.

I had no compassion for the plants 

But for the man.

She bought me all kinds of animals, but I wouldn't become a veterinary.

I guess my love for the man was hereditary.

She showed me the stars.

She wanted me to be the first man on Mars.

But I wanted to stay right here on earth

To fulfill my destiny of becoming a nurse.

Be aware! There is nothing good about a curse.

Let me quiet your heads while you speculate.

I will tell you exactly what happen twenty six years after that exact date.

It was my first day on the job,

Thirteen southwest was the ward.

The curse in charge gave me three patients,

And the doctor prescribed three conversations.

I thought to myself, I have no time for this kind of medication.

They picked up the wrong words

As I lacked time

To make them understand 

That their world is also mine.

I found my first my patient lying in bed, 

As I spoke the word hope

I pushed him to the edge 

And he hanged himself with a rope.

I tried to reach the second one

To avoid the worst

But despite my presence 

He was Already alone.

I still had the last one to save.

These weren't only thoughts, these were words I was willing to say,

That I actually ended up writing on his grave.

Finally as I lie old and helpless on the sidewalk,

I scream " is there any nurse with time to talk"

Diogo Baião 11/08/2014