tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85481273611180604972012-02-17T14:02:38.269-02:00Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.comBlogger1291100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-80766488957468506682012-02-12T21:48:00.002-02:002012-02-12T21:50:17.993-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ...antes fossem meus pés cansados;<br /><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se hoje eu ainda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As idéias muito começam, quase sozinhas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; continuam, algumas, mais minhas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nenhuma se fecha.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dizem que é problema de infância</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; isso é trauma daquilo,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não sei</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é que ela não acredita em elogios.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Somos todos muito humanos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; faz falta alguém cê sabe quem poucas vezes a gente se sente realmente &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; [bem.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Vale tentar.</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8076648895746850668?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-83552568564936381452012-02-10T19:22:00.005-02:002012-02-10T19:24:27.532-02:00<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ate-a</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; até <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a ter.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8355256856493638145?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-47060958249263975342012-02-08T16:05:00.005-02:002012-02-08T16:07:24.671-02:00<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; digo que sinto</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas não em palavras, entrelinhas<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; talvez mas <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">ainda é mais<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que só olhar - são quadras<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; apenas, entre as nossas<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; casas<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e os interesses que casam.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tem brincadeira qualquer<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nos nossos encontros, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não do destino<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em nós, mesmos<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; desatados que sejam, desatino<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pra todas as incertezas<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sei do agora,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; digo o que sinto.<o:p></o:p></span></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4706095824926397534?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-10796437831875415652012-02-05T23:31:00.001-02:002012-02-05T23:31:22.118-02:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;De vez em quando o olhar de um é, aos olhos de outra, num instante, um mar. Ela se afogou. No horizonte da distância, entre os dois havia uma festa: gente e fumaça. E a falta de atenção dele. Cris vidrada, com voz incerta de amiga nos ombros, talvez, talvez. Cogitações sobre o moço. Concreto o tambor do peito, falta de ar tão densa. Tinha nas costas já o último amor, sumido, nem cartas mais. Ali poucos minutos fitando, já se esquecia. É que a ingenuidade permitia... Paixão à primeira onda e o remar para a tempestade. Remava sem querer, se aproximava por impulso. Não percebia, queria-o em carne e proximidade; quanto mais melhor, se sangrasse, melhor. Mas acreditava ser impossível.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Semi-deus.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Holofote dos sentidos na postura dele descontraída, Cris via apenas as pernas dobradas com braço jogado por cima e a outra mão esticada para trás ao apoiar o tronco inclinado. Cigarro derretendo por entre dedos levemente amarelados. Tinha raiva de si mesma por não ter também seu próprio vício em caixinhas de vinte, na verdade uma vontade maior de qualquer assunto para tornar-se adicção do homem. Se fosse preciso, Cris se deixaria ser tragada. Pra dentro. Teria como filtro as pernas morenas, que precisavam alcançá-lo, por mais que a cabeça fremente não articulasse palavra. Fazia o silêncio dos pensamentos a música alta. Rangia os dentes, chegava cada vez mais perto; sem papo sem copo. De repente, rota inevitável: a barba, os dedos, olhos, mar, o medo, vontade de voltar e raiva. Raiva. Raiva. Foi virando o corpo transtornada num segundo impulso; de agora não. Mas querendo em carne e proximidade, se sangrasse melhor. Holofote dos sentidos, a mão apoiada dele foi tudo que viu. O pé dela indo de encontro sem corte</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Raiva amor: salto alto até sangrar.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A lágrima no rosto dela veio estampar os pedidos desesperados de desculpas. Ele em misto de dor e susto, sem entender, caiu no truque. Entrou no carro. Direto pra farmácia mais próxima. Dúzias de guardanapo a estancar o estrago da paixão nos dedos. Finalmente, sim, silêncio branco de corredor de loja de departamento. Gaze, remédio, esparadrapo. O álcool flutuando nas pupilas dele. A língua de Cris se solta enquanto faz o curativo. A dor dele dissimulada em íris de mulher nervosa. Não vi, é que, estava, eu sou, você?, louca, louca, ta doendo?, vai, melhorar. Mas ele sem resposta, paralisado no silêncio boquiaberto. Ainda não tinha se tocado. De onde é que...?... linda.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Linda.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1079643783187541565?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-38243085805063395402012-01-30T13:03:00.003-02:002012-01-30T13:06:00.542-02:00&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Seu quarto é pandora<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus olhos incrédulos,<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não dormi um segundo<br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus olhos incrédulos<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não dormi um segundo,<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; seu quarto é pandora<br /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não dormi um segundo<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; seu quarto é pandora,<br />&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus olhos incrédulos<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3824308580506339540?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-31002716039311055532011-11-26T18:49:00.003-02:002011-11-26T18:50:00.109-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O mar não esteve sempre aqui</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; alguma terra se levantou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a dar passagem</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; também a luz</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; acha o nosso tempo para se mover</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; muito </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">lento</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3100271603931105553?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-32451589688634423512011-11-24T19:39:00.002-02:002011-11-24T19:40:42.163-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pouco sei do tempo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; porque meu tempo </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; aqui é pouco.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A idade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; da terra, até me aparece</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas ainda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é fosca.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Transparentes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; só, às lágrimas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por saber</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que vivem mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as coisas mortas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e as árvores.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3245158968863442351?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-67450622902397234632011-11-15T16:13:00.002-02:002011-11-15T20:46:04.720-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a cidade de</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Piedade do Rio Grande</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é cortada por uma rua extensa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que se mistura com a estrada</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; como se ela toda se movesse</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e as nuvens é que estivessem paradas.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Nesse país tão grande</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de rodovias e latifúndios</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que não se acha</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; igual, e nos quais a gente</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">não se acha,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a genealogia deixa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; os geógrafos doidos.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6745062290239723463?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-22069437916404572652011-11-06T22:19:00.005-02:002011-11-06T22:55:11.999-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; só me alcançam a</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; memória /uns vagos </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">traços seus – cabelo, íris, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">cheiro – como se fosse uma </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">música /da qual eu só lembrasse</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; os dois primeiros /versos e agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; impossível adentrar mais /não</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; consigo te procurar /em discos ou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no cheiro dos livros do centro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; da cidade /pra dentro do meu quarto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o pensamento /circula uma</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; avenida só onde passou seu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; portaestandarte /há sempre a</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">nostalgia de um carnaval </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">/que nunca vivi só </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">nos livros</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2206943791640457265?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-22133164220320857722011-11-03T19:36:00.004-02:002011-11-03T19:36:54.308-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; É sempre mais difícil ancorar um navio no espaço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um título para o meu pensamento inteiro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e ainda só um pedaço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tenho aqui de baixo, bem perto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no peito, no sangue, nos nervos longe de serem de aço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; uma frota completa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de mil naus construídas pela metade</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Nos convés</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; rondam marinheiros sem função</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e capitães sem juízo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as velas rasgadas e pó sobre os astrolábios</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; remam em florestas mudas os cabelos crespos reinam as idéias sujas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tenho até vergonha</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; desses alforriados dos meus instintos &amp; desejos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Crivos e cravos cravados e cavaletes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; feitos com a madeira podre encharcada</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dos pensamentos naufragados</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sustentam telas para abstrações</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e silêncios</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; enxadas teimam em cultivar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a terra imaginária guardada em barris vindos da infância</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o porto podia ser o meu olhar de criança</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou uma qualquer sede de vida,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se o espaço é mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e vez em quando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a bússola quieta e aponta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o horizonte infinito me abriga.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2213316422032085772?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-26573111035550771762011-10-31T18:15:00.002-02:002011-10-31T18:15:37.969-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sobrevivo por entre</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dois lugares</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensamentos e olhares</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">funcionando ao mesmo tempo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">neblinam.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tanto aqui dentro quanto lá fora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a atenção me escapa&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2657311103555077176?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-889659312459688432011-10-20T19:54:00.001-02:002011-11-06T22:56:11.496-02:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><i>&nbsp;(poema selecionado pelo projeto Terças Poéticas Especial 2011, em comemoração ao Dia das Crianças, e apresentado no dia 11 de Outubro, junto com outros 24 poemas de outros 24 poetas, jovens e crianças, na sala Juvenal Dias, Palácio das Artes)</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o tic tac do relógio</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; implode o silêncio do quarto</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de dentro pra fora</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a nossa respiração </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">calma e lenta</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">de fora pra dentro</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">explode o destino da tarde</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">em mil pedaços de carinho</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e inspirações relapsas</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um afogar no outro </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">abismo em expirações estáticas</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um outro afogar novo</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no um</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; minuto:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; bomba-relógio ou coração</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; traz sangue distribui amor</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">marca o ritmo às canções formadas por&nbsp; palavras </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">(que circulam o impossível, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">sentimentos reciprocamente tácitos)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">e tamborilar nos ossos</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; novamente saltados</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; da minha bacia</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">roxas as coxas de quem dorme ao lado</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">truncado o meu desejo de senti-la, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">pele</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">poros de onde nascem os ásperos</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">pêlos arranhando</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">seca areia de ampulheta</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">escorrendo no pescoço dela</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">barba saliva e suor</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">punhados de tempos enxertados nos lábios</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">trancado o meu prazer de despi-la </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">no armário em frente </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">ao espelho ela nua</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">para sempre</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">inscrição em batom no ventre</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">nas pernas </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">escorrendo pelos dedos</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">trespassando os joelhos de face machucada </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">e vermelho amor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Atravessado fora de hora e sem data marcada</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-88965931245968843?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-79386416281464457812011-10-17T18:42:00.007-02:002011-10-17T20:38:57.944-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Esse fitar arredio mudo da alvorada</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no qual as palavras se perdem</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; decompostas reveladas do filtro fino da seda </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 141.6pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">que são – sem cor, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">como se o amarelo solar fosse luz primária</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e espessa</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">não sabemos ainda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se o violão anuncia a festa da vinda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dos bares às casas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou se as brasas; fornalhas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; clamam no seu calor</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por fazer rolar os suores magros</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dos moços indistintos.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Talvez tudo aconteça ao mesmo tempo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; serpentina e serpentário</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou talvez o salário não dê pro fim do mês</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7938641628146445781?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-49244315912428375052011-10-09T14:34:00.001-03:002011-10-09T14:35:35.602-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vulcânica</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nosso amor é uma rocha incrustada no peito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um não ter jeito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; incandescente</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eterno poente melancólico</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; – Descansa atrás dos meus olhos</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4924431591242837505?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-6771506030088204022011-10-06T19:19:00.001-03:002011-10-06T19:19:30.992-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Morrer nesse calor</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; destruir (por) enquanto solução</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dissolver o tal do bem me quer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; deglutir aquele não </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 106.2pt;">&nbsp;,&nbsp; te quis</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-677150603008820402?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-30458991665695188842011-09-18T20:49:00.005-03:002011-09-18T20:59:42.586-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O perdão é anterior à palavra</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; acontece na boca da aurora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vem espraiado, braços de sol</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; enraíza: carne dos pulsos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; materializado </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">na face em lágrimas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tão mais eterno que o chiado</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no fim da vitrola</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; traz paz no silêncio</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e silencia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; enquanto o poente consola</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3045899166569518884?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-67273715742832593362011-09-17T16:46:00.005-03:002011-09-17T17:11:27.515-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Estímulos:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; epígrafes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; para sensações</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; esfinges, indecifráveis febres</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a quem é louco o bastante</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; para pisar fora de casa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e estar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; invulnerável</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ao canto dos pássaros</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e o sopro dos pequenos nadas da praça</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; manifestando-se</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na forma de insetos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou folhas secas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; secando e sumindo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sorri</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; enquanto somos capazes de ver</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; apenas um </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">dos duzentos passos da eternidade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e o reflexo vago</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de meia-vida da lua</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6727371574283259336?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-30033660242065048732011-09-07T13:12:00.006-03:002011-09-07T13:12:23.791-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Me deixa e vai embora mesmo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa e larga tudo que foi até agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa e me deixa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa no meio da estrada</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; esquece que bifurcou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; diminuiu, virou caminho de terra</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; só tem poeira</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sobre as nossas fotos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que encerram as datas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em que você me deixou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa pensando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas não me deixa sentir</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; saudades</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa província</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa cidade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa em casa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; depois do cinema e do motel</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa flores em cima da mesa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa um recado amarelo na porta da geladeira</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa sozinha de manhã</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que é pra eu não ver a bagunça do seu cabelo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa sozinha à noite</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que é pra eu sentir vontade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e a gente se falar por telefone</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa contar nossa história</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de trás pra frente</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa do avesso</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa encostar a mão </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e fingir que nada fiz</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa feliz</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa solteira</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou simplesmente me deixa aqui</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; com lágrimas no rosto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me deixa</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3003366024206504873?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-4896316653487974512011-09-01T12:06:00.002-03:002011-09-01T12:13:34.852-03:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kfEeHo593-M/Tl-fOWesRNI/AAAAAAAAAIc/TC06p9OW_rk/s1600/A000003-R1-00-0A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kfEeHo593-M/Tl-fOWesRNI/AAAAAAAAAIc/TC06p9OW_rk/s400/A000003-R1-00-0A.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-489631665348797451?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-62475034006182040822011-08-22T22:27:00.007-03:002011-08-22T22:39:03.088-03:00<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">&nbsp;<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“ela chega pela voz de metal</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">envia assim a senha: audição impessoal</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensamento comprimido a fingir 'não é comigo</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; font-size: 12pt;">’</span></i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sentidos segurados, corpo em estado de atenção”</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">(O livro de horas do metrô #3 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">para a hora de ouvir má notícia</i>, Luciana Tonelli)</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05egw16Kly8/TlL-_DaZq4I/AAAAAAAAAIU/Ol8KDOWYRn8/s1600/C%25C3%25B3pia+de+A000001-R1-14-26A.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-05egw16Kly8/TlL-_DaZq4I/AAAAAAAAAIU/Ol8KDOWYRn8/s320/C%25C3%25B3pia+de+A000001-R1-14-26A.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; destino sempre incerto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mesmo o futuro perto horizonte </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e cinza</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Minas versão concreto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">garimpo de pessoas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o livro de horas na mão</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o ferro das horas no pulso</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ponteiro do tédio, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">olhar incitado:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; horizonte concreto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; balança discreto, o som das tábuas grossas </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">grosserias lá por baixo dos pés</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">o sol mofina, mofando no banco de plástico</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">verde, se visses, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">verdes os eucaliptos pra esconder a favela</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">(pinguela entre dois pensamentos)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">o ódio do movimento insensato</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">de cogitar um bom rapaz, ladrão, bom rapaz,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">trabalhador, bebum, moça bonita, artista, performer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">pixadora, dread-locks, decote, sandália, pulseira, silicone, botox</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">voz de metal, monstro máquina incondicional, que fala</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">não cogita a</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">lente bifocal é o meu olhar pensante, mar de outros</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">individual, casais, tanto faz</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">chegar, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">descer,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sem pensar,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mar sem fim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mar sem mar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ela, dona invisível da voz, diz que sim.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Vilarinho, da linha</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mais fim, dá linha</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">empina e sobe: o papagaio na beira da avenida.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Sol de novo, chego em casa<br />&nbsp; <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TDFZ_qEoC0o/TlL_a6nVh7I/AAAAAAAAAIY/rwqIkPnXkqg/s1600/C%25C3%25B3pia+de+A000001-R1-05-6A.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TDFZ_qEoC0o/TlL_a6nVh7I/AAAAAAAAAIY/rwqIkPnXkqg/s320/C%25C3%25B3pia+de+A000001-R1-05-6A.JPG" width="214" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6247503400618204082?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-20588509807894082702011-08-21T13:26:00.000-03:002011-08-21T13:26:37.057-03:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Hoje eu vou escrever um poema</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>que vai apagar todos os anteriores</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e suas dores jorrando nas linhas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>as minhas que já foram e vem</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 4;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e vão</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>estação de folhas caindo para os girassóis</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>se abrirem, novo </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">poema, dia e tempo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>para pensar e mover os dedos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>na direção correta os pés firmes</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>não brigar com o vento, ser envolvido</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e voar</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>voar</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2058850980789408270?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-25337275589429747062011-08-16T20:13:00.005-03:002011-08-16T20:14:23.542-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Não falo por mim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; escrevo nos outros</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; queria assim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; marcar os corpos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e colocar todos os olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; diante do espelho</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; poesia pra conversar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; com si mesmo</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2533727558942974706?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-15983592247786184292011-08-11T17:38:00.001-03:002011-08-11T17:38:22.681-03:00<br /><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; alô,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; você me esqueceu?</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1598359224778618429?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-8026672483057806312011-08-04T21:48:00.000-03:002011-08-04T21:48:19.584-03:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Preciso aceitar meus ciúmes</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e a minha inveja</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>talvez a dor que tudo isso cause</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>antes de dar o próximo passo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>respirar, e desfazer</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>laços, nós e cordas vocais emboladas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>com tudo o que disse mas queria</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ter dito melhor, pois não foram</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>mais do que palavras por trás</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>dos meus olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>podiam as lágrimas ter caído na hora certa</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>mas não quero mais saber do que</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>não pode ter acontecido</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>porque muito não aconteceu</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e todo o pequeno resto sou eu</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e a minha história, guardada</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ou esquecida na minha memória</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e em outras</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>há marcas das quais não lembro</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de sangue ou de tempo, velhas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ou novas demais para serem percebidas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>meus olhos finalmente detidos, parados</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e pasmos no branco do teto</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>com a cabeça afundada no tapete</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>deixam os pensamentos retornarem a todos os lugares</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>dos quais fugi</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e irem de novo além, em mim</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>encharcados de mágoas sem achar a superfície</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>enquanto os outros sentidos repousam</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>porque o coração já é demais e grita</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>roubando toda a atenção</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>agora percebo, roubei toda alegria que pude</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>das horas nas quais não estive</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e meus olhos estavam parados</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>dedos fugindo por páginas ou superfícies de peles</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e pêlos, cachorros encontrados embaixo do banco da praça</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>não por estarem sozinhos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>mas por também terem fome de tudo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>língua pra fora dentes à mostra</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>me fazerem desconfiar que</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>uma coisa leva à outra, e vice-verso</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>empilho no meu castelo-palavras que desmorona</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>outra menção argamassa e poeira vermelha</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ambição</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>vermelha injetada nos olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ainda a fome, de um tudo impróprio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e o ronco por dentro</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rouco</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de ter guardado na garganta gavetas inteiras do que</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>deixei de lado</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e tive medo de dizer</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>porque dizer é estopim,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>risco, chance, é colapso</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e o medo é muito mais, e inimigo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>tenho medo de estar vencido</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e assim dizendo concretizar</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>é preciso parar.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">De novo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>respiro</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-802667248305780631?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-60215052678160272792011-08-02T18:14:00.004-03:002011-08-02T18:14:33.916-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pra quê dizer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que não</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se a resposta é</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; talvez</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por que dizer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu quero</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu sei que vou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; poder</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que desespero</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se na hora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; respiro.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6021505267816027279?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-61272952843544044712011-07-27T00:38:00.004-03:002011-07-27T01:12:43.361-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Como naquele velho</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; samba</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em mim ainda mais novo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; do que esse sentimento explosivo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de amor angustiado</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e guimbas de cigarro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; jogadas no asfalto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; refletindo a chuva</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por sobre, caindo o prédio alto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; molhado ou chorando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por todos os poros:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; suado</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; amor bem cadenciado,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">tamborim marcando </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 70.8pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">o fim.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6127295284354404471?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-72620358820910843852011-07-23T19:01:00.001-03:002011-07-23T19:02:01.603-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; volta chuva</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vai culpa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a gota esmiúça</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e dilui </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; muda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; os olhos por dentro da janela do outro lado da rua</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mesmo que fosse minha</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou estivesse nua</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mesmo que fosse sua</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a mulher, ainda aninha!,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na clavícula curva</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a gota mais fria e crua, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">refletindo amarela de poste </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">alegórica melancolia pura.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pura chuva,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; purifica.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7262035882091084385?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-62887188325738151362011-07-20T20:33:00.001-03:002011-07-20T20:33:07.449-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fazer carinho </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em você</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; fazer carinho </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em mim.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6288718832573815136?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-36442537203795971212011-07-13T21:41:00.001-03:002011-07-13T21:41:53.054-03:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c4La1FVviOc/Th47I7D3YSI/AAAAAAAAAIM/O3cVO_FlT7w/s1600/Scan005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-c4La1FVviOc/Th47I7D3YSI/AAAAAAAAAIM/O3cVO_FlT7w/s400/Scan005.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><br />"É seu."<br />"Leva logo, é tudo seu."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3644253720379597121?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-10091048733862964212011-07-07T21:22:00.002-03:002011-07-07T21:23:27.870-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; É que a possibilidade de eternizar tudo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">me inquieta. Quando estoura o flash, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">e eu vejo um brilho de metal de aliança, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">e uma dança gravada numa fita cassete.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">flash, black tie, socialite. Isso, se desse certo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">do contrário já é demais pra imaginar.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">É que a possibilidade de explodir tudo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">me desperta. Todo dia, às seis.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1009104873386296421?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-88801683468311262532011-07-04T18:48:00.001-03:002011-07-04T18:48:19.823-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Ainda é cedo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; antes do dia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ainda é frio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e o café quente,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; atrás</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">os olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dormem,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a língua amarga rotina </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">embaça</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; retina </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">correm rápido as coisas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">canecas novas pretas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">toalha</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">amacia</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ou vapor</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">quente</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">olhar inerte</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">na caixinha do leite</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">o ministério da saúde adverte.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qPFn8YoPET0/ThI0lq725CI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PjHK-53L8zc/s1600/Scan003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qPFn8YoPET0/ThI0lq725CI/AAAAAAAAAIE/PjHK-53L8zc/s400/Scan003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; text-indent: 35.4pt;">&nbsp;<i>a vaca Lhada, stencil.</i></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8880168346831126253?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-64815793799404984932011-06-18T13:58:00.001-03:002011-06-18T13:59:04.218-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; acordar com o rosto de uma garota linda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a um palmo do seu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tomar café e comer broa com a garota</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; andar pelo bairro enquanto as crianças fantasiam</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">chamar a garota para ir na cachoeira&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">de bicicleta, se ela não quiser</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">nina-la e deixa-la dormindo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ir sozinho com o vento nos cabelos</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">entrar na água gelada pouco a pouco</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">boiar e fitar o céu azul sol</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">fazer alongamentos com os pés nas pedras quentes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">olhar o horizonte de pedras quentes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">voltar e passar na bica, parar no mercadinho</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">comprar as duas mexericas mais bonitas do mercadinho</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">comer enquanto anda de bicicleta, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">vento cabelos dentes, sorver o suco do dia</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">chegar em casa e acorda-la, ou se deitar do lado.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ganhar um dia, dois</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">a dois</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6481579379940498493?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-66340369284106355342011-06-16T18:06:00.002-03:002011-06-16T18:07:04.377-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Todo dia quando volto pra casa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; há uma borboleta amarela</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; batendo asa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; batendo o sol no rosto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; batendo meu peito batendo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; saudade.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; E eu não consigo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; lhe dar nome</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ela é mais livre que eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meu olhar se perdeu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e ela ainda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; amarela.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6634036928410635534?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-69967070099441546602011-06-13T20:54:00.005-03:002011-06-16T18:11:33.870-03:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>– Aposto todas as minhas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>cinco fichas azuis-bordô</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e três verdes-veludo.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>– Vai perder tudo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e o que nem tem</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>– Não tenho nada, estou sempre blefando</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>– E eu nunca sei jogar.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Sempre esqueço as regras,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>aí é um desnosacuda.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Apelo pra buda, mas jogo é pecado, estou enrolado</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>russas frases filosóficas na roleta</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>não entendo nada, o mundo, nada</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>o bilhar encharcado</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>bola oito, fogo olhar cruzado.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>A grana escorre.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Perfume foi embora</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>sombra de porta fechando. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6996707009944154660?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-85287489638331532922011-06-06T21:51:00.001-03:002011-06-06T21:58:15.771-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; convivo anos com as pessoas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não sei dizer como são</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por não querer acreditar </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que elas sejam assim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e para dar licença a todo mundo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de ser o que quiser</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; como eu queria ter também</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; bicos, penas, asas e o chão</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de onde sair.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8528748963833153292?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-37558986341370408972011-06-06T20:18:00.003-03:002011-06-06T20:25:40.224-03:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--iWeS3b3a0g/Te1gOzp0LBI/AAAAAAAAAIA/JSm7BszAEGI/s1600/Scan001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--iWeS3b3a0g/Te1gOzp0LBI/AAAAAAAAAIA/JSm7BszAEGI/s400/Scan001.jpg" width="327" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3755898634137040897?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-86057840598685183272011-05-31T21:51:00.001-03:002011-05-31T21:53:00.703-03:00<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; “Um dia vivemos!</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">O homem que é forte</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Não teme da morte;</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Só teme fugir;</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No arco que entesa</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tem certa uma presa,</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quer seja tapuia,</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Condor ou tapir.”</i></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">(Canção do Tamoio<i>, Gonçalves Dias.</i>)</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Pela noite passamos!</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O homem que é esperto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Não teme o concreto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Só teme o luzir</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (azul, vermelho, azul, vermelho);</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No traço que expressa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tem certa uma preza</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Quer seja tapume,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Portão ou muro.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8605784059868518327?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-90241200017759012972011-05-22T21:57:00.002-03:002011-05-22T21:57:08.347-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Sentimento</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Da sua </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">volta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me pré</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; passa e</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me pré</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; para: para</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sua partida.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Dois</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sentidos,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">nós</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">dois.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-9024120001775901297?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-68023856827688067752011-05-11T12:57:00.000-03:002011-05-13T17:36:14.393-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Meu bem, eu entrei</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pra banda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Do Sargento Pimenta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Agora, vê se me aguenta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Piegas assim:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Volta pra mim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Volta pra mim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Volta pra mim</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Meu bem, eu entrei</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Pro clube da banda,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A banda do clube</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; E aprendi todos os afro-sambas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Feitos só pra mim</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Como você</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Como você</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No café, no almoço, no jantar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Te assisto na tevê</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; No cinema, na retina</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Distraio-me</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Te leio </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Nos gibis, pois os livros</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; andam pesados calhamaços de algúrias</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Te leio nos catálogos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Seu número</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Trocado junto com a fechadura</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; E o seu e-mail.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; E o seu nome?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Só me resta a Vanda,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Minha bicicleta vermelha.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6802385682768806775?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-10212268715328330282011-04-29T16:06:00.003-03:002011-04-29T16:07:08.616-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cappuccino</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Parapeito</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Horizonte</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Estrelado</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (paro...)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Recordo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Domingo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Derradeiro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Carnaval</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (...xítona)</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1021226871532833028?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-71660883814502014782011-04-18T00:25:00.003-03:002011-04-18T00:26:14.168-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sabe aquela poesia que você me deu?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; você esqueceu o título, e eu pus:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Nome seu.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mas depois falhou, o título original</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; era “caminho”; o seu?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; cada um seguiu.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cada um, menos eu.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Estou parado, ainda pensando pra sempre</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; como o chiado no rádio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; fraco, suspiro, por trás de um cachecol velho:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não me arrumo mais pra nada. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7166088381450201478?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-2390976012619871002011-04-17T01:14:00.002-03:002011-04-17T01:14:23.399-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu nunca soube a data do seu aniversário,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas não faz diferença</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nunca quis ser mais do que alguém pra você,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; falar mais do que o silêncio,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; olhar mais do que nos seus olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou ser mais do que a verdade.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nunca quis te mostrar nada</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (como gosto de clichês!, você também sabe)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se é bom, e sempre é,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é porque não somos nada mais nada menos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que duas pessoas bem resolvidas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e bem colocadas, lado a lado,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nunca quis mais do que tardes de sábado</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; inúteis, imóveis</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e tão belas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; quanto as palavras que não falamos,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ainda, não é a noite que vai,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vamos nos pondo do sol</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; criando outros caminhos pra mesma amizade.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-239097601261987100?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-11083252555381436462011-04-15T16:23:00.004-03:002011-04-16T14:56:17.762-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Outro lugar, ainda: aqui</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o sol às três da tarde </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; arde os livros lidos no silêncio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; das paredes brancas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e mudinhas novas postas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no parapeito da janela</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de onde o horizonte, </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; então, sem prédios,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; menos de cem crianças</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e mais de cem proximidades</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o véu das nuvens, abre-se</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; porque não cabia antes, na minha vontade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mais tranqüilidade, até incômoda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; até que a cômoda com minhas roupas de frio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (esperando o inverno, rigoroso)</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; podia estar mais suja</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de fuligem; e não tem mais altura</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que ter vertigem, quase me engana</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas, no meio de Minas, cidade plana, vale.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Estrada verde, e se der sede</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; bica, água simplesmente, nada distante</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e os praticantes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; da sagrada penitência</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pra uma ou pra outra pergunta,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">a resposta, sussurra. O velho sentado no portão</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">paciência. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1108325255538143646?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-83722223098775302582011-04-05T15:54:00.002-03:002011-04-06T12:54:38.857-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Parece que como esse bolo há três dias. Os últimos três dias, tem gosto de bolo, macios. É também o terceiro pedaço, como se eu fatiasse a minha consciência, exposta sobre a cama, em pedaços, como os postais que você me manda. Ou as fotos que tira, as cabanas cobertas de neve. Nós não éramos mais do que dois, em um bairro, você se lembra? E você sonhava em revelar você mesma aqueles filmes fotográficos, mas nunca conseguimos convencer sua avó a deixar-nos vedar o banheiro. E sempre tinha uma chuva melhor do que a outra, quando não ousávamos violar o cinza da tarde com nenhum movimento, e nos intervalos entre os álbuns, entre nossas pernas, os sons que nos sussurrava o vento, trocávamos algumas palavras e depois o silêncio, quando então tínhamos certeza de que os silêncios em nossos corações fluíam juntos. Compasso de chuva. Nossos corpos e nossos braços pesavam exatamente com as folhas escorrendo. as gotas, fazendo aqueles riozinhos nos cantos, todos, e deixando brincos translúcidos nos fios. Minhas orelhas cobertas pelo grande edredom rosa, sempre o único que você tinha para me emprestar... mande mais fotos.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8372222309877530258?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-33816161743487972402011-03-23T12:47:00.002-03:002011-03-23T12:47:47.092-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Um tablete só de chocolate meio amargo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dois pinheirinhos no jardim,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e um quarto que eu arrumo se precisar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e a rua, os meninos jogam bola</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e a grama baixa, foi cortada ontem, sabe?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cobertores, café quando quiser</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e um violão que eu tento baixinho</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pra ninguém lá fora saber</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o quanto aqui dentro ia fazer sol:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se você quisesse,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se você um dia...</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não é muito mais que uma prece,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; escondida antes do dormir,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas te ofereço tudo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3381616174348797240?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-30539058737548663572011-03-17T23:28:00.004-03:002011-03-17T23:28:37.819-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eu busco saídas criativas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e busco entradas criativas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; busco portas e costuras e portas e costuras e portas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; busco tonturas, vertigens</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e outras imagens tortas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; colos de mãe em outros solos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; busco bustos onde me reconheça</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e tiro as fotos das paisagens onde me esqueça</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu tento, e penso tanto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que busco em cantos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; prantos iguais aos meus</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e tanto penso, que escorrem os pensamentos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pelo vazio imenso de um garoto tonto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e de nada valem; se não me encontro.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eu busco sempre, mas busco brando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que peso demais, atrapalha o passo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3053905873754866357?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-38784758770311120572011-03-17T17:34:00.003-03:002011-03-17T17:36:07.402-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ele tinha um blog</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ela lhe disse que lia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ele disse que a amava</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Ela, de longe, sabia</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3878475877031112057?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-40375780534701371392011-03-03T17:40:00.003-03:002011-08-11T17:37:18.680-03:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>– Isso não se explica</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>no telefone; pára!, não me irrita.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Vem cá, me come</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>cita, Vinícius, me excita</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e me diz, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">por que é que você</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>foi embora e não me quis?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Volta, amor, volta.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4037578053470137139?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-45732066066549817612011-03-01T00:34:00.003-03:002011-03-01T00:35:28.976-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tempo: passa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tudo arde, tudo morde</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mordo o lápis, perco fácil</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; foco:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Compro in loco,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; conto os blocos, faltam tantos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; peço os santos: “tempo, passa...”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; praça:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Espero no banco,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; papel em branco, pombos &amp; alvoroço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; traço seu rosto, ainda é terça, </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; fosso:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Me afundo num poço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensamento exposto,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; num sorriso bobo; e os olhos, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">dança. doce</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; lembrança:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Flor, a mão treme</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o céu sublime, seu cheiro é leme</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; viro o rosto, navego olhar</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; calçada:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; avisto caminhar, &nbsp;penso não crer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nada explode mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; do que você</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; aparecer.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4573206606654981761?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-46731877085062000732011-02-22T11:45:00.003-03:002011-02-23T00:22:43.720-03:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Se eu morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e esse cheiro de tinta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e esse sangue seco nas unhas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e essa mãe que às vezes chora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e também o mundo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse mudo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou se eu gritasse,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; morresse e gritasse e morresse mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse rindo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e esse dia lindo&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e o preto fosco</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e no bálsamo oco</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; coubesse a minha morte</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse vivo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou transmutasse em corpo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; soprasse vida a fora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; do meu peito morto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse torto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; entortasse o ventre</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e vomitasse o sempre</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que era e era sempre,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sempre era meu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se eu morresse agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e me enterrassem em um caixão de fel.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4673187708506200073?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-71147128655107862132011-02-16T23:27:00.003-02:002011-02-16T23:27:33.973-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As paredes aqui já mexem sozinhas,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em textura</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em feridas feitas a suaves mil toques</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um rio, os vincos inevitáveis do pincel (retoques)</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus olhos vidrados;</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tudo molhado.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as paredes daqui já quase falam</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ecoam lisas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">os bateres de talheres,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">reflexos convexos</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e os choros abafados</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">os azulejos daqui já conhecem</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">os lençóis que vão;</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">de tanto arrastar e</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">o pendurar nas janelas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">as janelas daqui...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">deixam renovar o ar. Sábias </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que lá fora</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">há montanhas e as coisas atrás delas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e montanhas atrás delas e mais</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">coisas,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">atrás delas...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7114712865510786213?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-17798006821792847752011-02-16T00:07:00.010-02:002011-02-16T00:19:27.859-02:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">– Eu sou, meio assim, fora de ordem</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu ponho os pingos e depois os i’s</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e não importa mesmo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu ponho a casa num lugar a esmo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e depois gosto, e depois moro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu morro, e depois vivo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu subo, e depois sigo </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Eu sou, meio assim, o não-ser</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">fora de mim ficam amor e prazer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">que explodem de tanto contratempo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">entrando pelos ventrículos, aqui dentro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Faz-se momento; e em lugar nenhum</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">faz-se o tempo e em tempo algum</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">fa-ce da espada o braço de Ogum</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Eu sou, meio assim, fora de ordem</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu amo e depois amo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1779800682179284775?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-10392401412742077902011-02-05T17:20:00.007-02:002011-02-16T00:23:18.386-02:00<link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5Cuser%5CCONFIG%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C02%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <br /><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se digo ou se não digo? </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; você puxa tudo pelos meus olhos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; murcha todos os momentos distantes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; durações de antes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; depois</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; você, pois, você, pois, você, pois</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; foi; quais lugares?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; quanto de açúcar?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; gosta de quê?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; aceita, vira o rosto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; suspeita</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por de trás dos óculos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; traça os métodos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tira os rótulos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; força a cópula de nossos passos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; converge o nosso estar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o mesmo lugar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me falta –</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; falta, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">salta o coração</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">treme a mão. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">porque você não.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Você não,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não se incomoda com ninguém olhando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não fica se segurando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; diz amando</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; destrançando – os nossos nós</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; reduzindo: medos e dó</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; closes e lentes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sente que às vezes</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é até cinema</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o amor, até filme</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nós dois, até crime –</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tanto.</div><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --  </style><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1039240141274207790?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-7117233786930621382011-01-12T22:19:00.002-02:002011-01-12T22:19:08.351-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vejo essa casa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; essa casa toda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; com três lances de escada e só</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na superfície toda branca,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e no verso, preto fosco;</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; depende pra onde olho,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; depende pra onde olho e vou.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Subo e </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; depois desço:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as paredes, a gramatura,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; os vincos da fibra de celulose</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o contraste preto-branco da casa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é tudo o que lhe dá sentido</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e vejo isso agora</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em memória,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; se torna tudo colorido</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em imaginação</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não tenho medo das criaturas daqui</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nem das janelas quadradas,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; como os baques surdos da. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">casa:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Que eu vejo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e logo deixo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus olhos correm rápido</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e eu me solto mais</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-711723378693062138?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-58065568431869272352010-12-26T19:28:00.001-02:002010-12-26T19:29:11.138-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tudo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tudo é derradeiro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fogo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fogo é passageiro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Muito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Muito é mais que eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eu é recorte</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sorte</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sorte é o necessário.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5806556843186927235?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-82459510668219355932010-12-16T14:32:00.003-02:002010-12-16T14:32:50.417-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Sou um homem de trânsito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mudo, transgrido, me conformo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não paro em sinal, não simbolizo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; percorro: não me encontro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; olho, olho, examino: não, não me encontro...</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; transcrevo, aproprio, relevo, ignoro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; transito, transcrito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; circunscrito apenas no eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; agora e agora e em quantos existirem,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ou em quantos eu parar pra pensar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sou e por fora o não sou</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; por fora o a mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o que se desfaz assim que falo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o que é tão meu (ironia)</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; que jogaria num ralo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; criá-lo-</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de novo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; num próximo movimento</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um momento</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; comtempoativo, sigo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não nego, morro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não caio, saio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não levo, nevo... leve...</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não chovo, choro</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não demoro, movo-</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8245951066821935593?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-7492365441331753362010-12-09T22:03:00.000-02:002010-12-09T22:03:02.414-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">"certezas efêmeras...", certeza? sorvete? bolo com cereja?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">flores arrancadas do jardim - afinal, não cresciam sempre mais?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">minhocas entre os dedos, lobisomens, aranhas, medos</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">beijos de mãe, santos remédios</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mel com própolis. Santos nas casas dos avôs</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">eram os rostos encenando as histórias de onça, de sítio, de tios</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">"quando seu pai tinha a sua idade...", pais no trabalho</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">inventar brincadeiras com o baralho, brigar com as primas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">fazer as pazes, ir nas casas dos amigos</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">poemas decompromissados, rabiscos colados nas paredes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">rabiscos nas paredes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">"espera, espera, deu sede!", mas já?</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-749236544133175336?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-68769829959584376922010-12-01T22:47:00.003-02:002010-12-01T22:47:48.239-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Surpreenda-me enda-me, me </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">dizendo endo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">querendo sendo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">um algo mais ais</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">rompa a barreira eira, entre nós</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">os possíveis amantes antes</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">aqui na minha cabeça eça esqueça</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">se eu disser qualquer coisa errada por favor, dor</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">é vir até aqui </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">quiprocó.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">meu coração bate ate</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">nós dois pois agora caminhado até aqui</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">não dar mais pra voltar, ar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">me falta chão, são</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">não mais, cais: você.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6876982995958437692?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-48007959507866840552010-11-24T21:06:00.003-02:002010-11-24T21:07:58.222-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Faço, refaço</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; uma linha</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; costuro um ponto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ponho pontos, uns i’s sem pingos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de afobação</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; conto de cortar – não de ré(a)is</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; história de tecer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um dedo de furar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; desfaço um nó</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sem ninguém ver</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e uso a corda pra atar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; leitor e texto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; fera e coisa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; avidez que se não conhecesse</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não saberia da calma</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; te&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; xt&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; o</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ç&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ma&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; cio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tempo vadio</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; gastado com figuras</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de tinta fresca</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na dita memória que eu tinha que ter</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mas cada retomar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mais e mais</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me faz coser.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4800795950786684055?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-15736490337680456742010-11-21T19:15:00.003-02:002010-11-21T21:26:42.096-02:00<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">No canto direito tem status de nota</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">no centro é título</div><div class="MsoNormal">à esquerda é prosa</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O palco é rosa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; a pauta é mito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; à mão anoto</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; com esse espaço incerto de dois dedos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; do canto da página</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um texto qualquer, uma lástima</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que por definição não se definiria</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas eu desconfio de canto de olho</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que é poesia.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1573649033768045674?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-52733756147657474972010-11-10T17:35:00.002-02:002010-11-10T17:37:01.779-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Façam-se sóis e sóis</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e sóis <span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; font-size: 12pt;">–</span> são os que mais se fazem</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; abram-se flores e flores</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; caiam folhas, folhas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; estações</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; calendários naturais e caleidoscópios vivos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; condensem chuvas, chuvas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nada perdura</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Tratem de beijar os beija-flores</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; não há trato</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; todos esses se fazem por se fazer</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; discerniram por instinto </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; solenidades</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; coisas sem pontas. não perfuram</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; perduram em mutações</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mudos, sem se afirmar.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Enchem conscientes leves</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de domingos chuvosos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; são imagens, as asas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; escorrendo no café por uma garganta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vão bater no estômago</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um voar de intestino</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sanguíneo beija-flor:</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; cafeína</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vai fazer eu passar o domingo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; passar leve por mim</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O beija-flor reflexo no café.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; A massagem que o tapete faz nos meus pés</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; me faz estar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; também na relva de um pico </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e no som da flauta de</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; um trovador</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; isso porque...</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no pico trovoa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na língua ressoa o que se diz</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; gosto de manhã</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Parece um manjar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de contentamento</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Cedo ao vento sedento</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vergo pro meio da tarde</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; transfiguro tudo que se passa</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na grande vontade</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; do mundo, muito maior que divina</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; natural</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; divina</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Abram-se flores e flores</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; na ponta do meu nariz</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é só fechando os olhos que vejo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tudo o que tenho,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; tateio em lembranças</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e tatuo seu toque cor-de-pele</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no meu peito nu <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--><span style="font-family: &quot;Times New Roman&quot;; font-size: 12pt;">–</span> descanso</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; espero ela chegar...</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Noite clara alva</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; no tapete da sala.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5273375614765747497?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-30495987317557702562010-11-03T19:06:00.008-02:002010-11-03T19:21:10.051-02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNHViyzoI/AAAAAAAAAFs/o_jmb_s68dQ/s1600/DSC09375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNHViyzoI/AAAAAAAAAFs/o_jmb_s68dQ/s400/DSC09375.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNO5H03rI/AAAAAAAAAFw/z5L7yR1VWS8/s1600/DSC09379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNO5H03rI/AAAAAAAAAFw/z5L7yR1VWS8/s400/DSC09379.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNVu9UDaI/AAAAAAAAAF0/ZlWhzsYmYXc/s1600/DSC09380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNVu9UDaI/AAAAAAAAAF0/ZlWhzsYmYXc/s400/DSC09380.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNefqgzFI/AAAAAAAAAF4/6lp1JI8x3-o/s1600/DSC09381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TNHNefqgzFI/AAAAAAAAAF4/6lp1JI8x3-o/s400/DSC09381.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><i>&nbsp;rótulos</i></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3049598731755770256?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-823838826031048772010-10-31T11:17:00.006-02:002011-04-26T13:58:22.500-03:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>No final, eu me vejo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>eu e a natureza sutil; calma de sabedoria que atravessou todos os tempos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>só ela existe sempre e</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>se destruída, Será a destruição e se consumirá</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>se nascer de novo, ela Será antes do nascimento, o nascimento será a </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 283.2pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">[natureza</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>eu me vejo; parte dela,<span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a areia,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">me cobrindo o corpo deitado</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a areia consumindo o meu cabelo, impregnada nele, deixando-o crespo e </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 318.6pt;">[áspero</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e a minha pele seca e marcada pelo vento: durante anos me desgastando o </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 141.6pt;"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span><span>&nbsp;</span>[rosto, atacando e sulcando minha face</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>o vento, vai me carregar (pra sempre) até os ouvidos de quem ainda se </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 318.6pt;">[apega</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>levando as notícias de que fui</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e de que sou</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>que sou breve como um sopro, mas que faz parte de um redemoinho</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>um redemoinho cinza e triste, mas calmo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>uma calma que talvez não valha a pena, mas vida</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>uma vida tenra,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a natureza em mim, eu a-guardo, intocada</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>incansada, sem sentido, balançando enquanto vida como a onda,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ainda em si, sofrendo a deriva da influência</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e balançando enquanto morte, enquanto natureza, como o vento</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>o vento o próprio balanço</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>o mar, descanso, incenso, defumador, vaporizador das minhas dores</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>leva sempre pra ele<span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>água cada vez mais escuras</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>dores, do todo que dele faz parte e</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ainda mais, do todo que ele é, se aventura, ternura</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>no seu corpo;</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">aventurar-se em outro, enxerto,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">incerto: fazer parte</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-82383882603104877?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-3307217995721973462010-10-30T12:10:00.003-02:002010-10-30T12:11:00.620-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Crio, como criou um dia Deus</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; deu que se criou o dia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e não sei como: mas essa descoberta ainda se adia</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ...Continuo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Crio, realidades distorcidas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; acredito-as </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vê e mente veemente</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Trato, no meu trato com as pessoas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de fazer o tratado bem trapo</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pra não ter que quebrar a cara depois</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Trato de fugir daqui</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; e concordamos vamos todos.</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Penso. que raio de poemas curtos é esse?</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; como raios</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sou tão Deus que como-os</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; esses raios de sol granulados pedaços de chocolate</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; dentro do meu café</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; giram gira giram a colher </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e os pedaços tão bonitos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Mexer o café é mesmo um rito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; esquisito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; nesse quesito, não deixo nada a desejar</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Só nesse, mexo a colher como ninguém, sei bem</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; três pra direita, uma pra esquerda</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; quantos hertz?quanto seu coração mandar</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu ia dizendo...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas realidades, acredito-as.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-330721799572197346?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-68102627924058666652010-10-23T23:21:00.003-02:002010-10-23T23:21:38.231-02:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Se eu simplesmente transpiro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">do meu desejo por você,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas é esse seu vestido bordado de flor</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ou seu all-star roxo de cano médio</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ou seu batom vermelho-me-morda</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ou seu sorriso gentil</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">alheio à tudo isso</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">seu olhar febril; fixo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">na paisagem:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">toda vez que o ônibus passa do viaduto...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">você dá sinal e desce, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">quase sem reparar.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6810262792405866665?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-75139538364770886262010-10-23T22:54:00.001-02:002010-10-23T22:55:38.884-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; eu, meus dias não-contados, minhas horas sofridas, </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; bem-vividas, sentid</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; as</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; suas horas quilometradas, suas viagens planejadas,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; suas amigas e seus sorris</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; os</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; meus cigarros, queimando e queimando, meu coração,</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; apertado, falta de tempo ou de vonta</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; de </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; mim, um beijo te ficou apertado, mas não muito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; longe, nós dois, vinho e </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; só</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; sempre só, sou eu, você sou eu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; pensando em algu</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; em</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; uma cama, nos misturamos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; somos, amamos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; amamos, somos</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; orgas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; (ama)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mos,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 106.2pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas você está longe.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; é só a minha cabeça, sou, só eu.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7513953836477088626?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-85542519951032866302010-10-16T14:33:00.003-03:002011-04-26T14:00:38.316-03:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Eu quero ser um feto</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">num útero quente</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ainda nem gente</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">esperando</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">pra varar uma boceta por inteiro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mesmo que não seja o primeiro</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">tocá-la toda</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mesmo que dôa mais do que eu não possa imaginar</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu ainda não penso</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sou um feto suspenso</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">em pura placenta</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">com cheiro de sexo e menstruação</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ainda nem vida, ainda nem são</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">unhas,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">as camadas de queratina nas pontas dos meus dedos</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ainda nem são</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">medos, os movimentos bruscos no suco</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; vaginal</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">dedos, ainda colados, nadadeiras, eu nado</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">ainda que nada devas fazer</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu ser</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mesmo nesse mundo sujo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8554251995103286630?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-12506383650151489562010-10-13T08:19:00.003-03:002010-11-03T19:11:07.388-02:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TLWVNN1Iy0I/AAAAAAAAAFo/dcoOgjt3UUg/s1600/Charlie+bit+me2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_mVawCqqa0N8/TLWVNN1Iy0I/AAAAAAAAAFo/dcoOgjt3UUg/s400/Charlie+bit+me2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>com <a href="http://reticente.tumblr.com/">Victor Galvão</a>.</i></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1250638365015148956?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-8258462803901095232010-10-06T14:17:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:33:24.552-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Me abracei e me vi</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>feito de veludo macio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>mas não pode, era noite!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e estava frio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ou foi o vinho?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Ou estou me mexendo como um rio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>molhado e em movimento</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ou é porque</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>me sento,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>na cadeira de balanço</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>ou é esse meu ranço</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de não sentir frio?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a alegria é</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>como um pio.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-825846280390109523?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-31602688111108490762010-10-04T19:48:00.003-03:002010-11-21T21:30:41.581-02:00<div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; O tempo passar arrastado</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; curar uma dor funda do peito</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; ficar na cama até mais tarde</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; comer salada de frutas</div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </div><div class="MsoNormal">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; esquecer uma segunda-feira é viver um domingo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3160268811110849076?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-6376476884876021212010-09-22T17:44:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:35:49.468-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tomar café longe de você</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">é como se fosse leite puro</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">juro; não sei por que isso</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas não quero crescer</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e pra te gostar</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">ter que te perder</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">entende?</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">esse meu motivo pra não me agarrar</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se eu tiver que tomar</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">um capuccino sozinho numa estação de trem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu prefiro um tapa na cara.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-637647688487602121?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-39251468882379553652010-09-20T14:13:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:37:10.581-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Essas palavras se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas palavras se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e eu não quero mais elas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas palavras mazelas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas palavras, más elas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e eu não quero, mas elas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Mazelas,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se palavras eu quero</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">não más, se elas se repetem,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas, se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">repetem mais palavras</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">não eu</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas não quero</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se más elas se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">palavras quero eu</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">não mazelas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Quero elas,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas não palavras más,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">essas mais se repetem</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se eu... (e mazelas)</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3925146888237955365?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-38505677048342094062010-09-16T20:14:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:38:47.157-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e estávamos nós dois</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">a limpar lágrimas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu, de sono</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e ela de tristeza mesmo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que é do que deviam ser feitas todas elas,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">se o feitio não fosse tão errado</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">quanto meu sono numa terça feira</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3850567704834209406?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-45608284238607041212010-09-15T20:53:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:39:35.059-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">O sono parece sempre apagar aquelas insônias do dia anterior<br />e acordo vazio<br />chio, por que não lembro?<br />quero saber do meu humor<br />um momento antes do sono<br />que alegria eu sei que era<br />tal era, de cobertores, o meu abono<br /><br />mas hoje,<br />com a ducha morna na nuca,<br />sem ter abrido ainda os olhos<br />peço que tenha ido com você<br />toda a lembrança de sua partida</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4560828423860704121?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-35714321187827261452010-09-09T18:42:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:43:30.694-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Pra ler esse poema</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">é necessário:</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">subverter o pensamento</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">multiplicar pela base do produto</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">sujá-lo de unguento</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">achar o quadrado de pi</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">tangenciar o pib estratosférico</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se formar técnico estadual</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">tocar Bach em quarti-fuso</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">enquanto bate ovos de bolo</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">escovando os dentes de uma baleia</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">na párabola da expressão</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">ter o pé nas nuvens</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">enquanto lambe o chão.</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">tudo isso</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">são</div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><i>com <a href="http://reticente.tumblr.com/">Victor Galvão</a>.</i> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3571432118782726145?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-81630101676343252122010-09-06T21:36:00.004-03:002010-12-02T12:07:26.405-02:00um poema pode ser uma linha só logo sai da agulha já vira pó como a gente logo diz ô dó<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8163010167634325212?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-49716337409038333132010-09-06T21:10:00.006-03:002010-11-03T19:45:07.911-02:00<div style="text-align: justify;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Os dias não iam quentes, mas iam secos. E a Tropicália de Caetano era a Bahia, entrando pela janela de nuvens brancas ou nuvem nenhuma, céu azul, azul... ás vezes um pássaro, um jato. No quarto só um livro, nunca terminado, no canto os sapatos, e na minha cabeça a saudade. Amanhã, amanhã sim, vou pegar o ônibus, do mesmo cheiro, de suor de trabalho de perfume de mulher de saudade de copo de café de café com leite de café amargo de pasta com os trabalhos de camisas ligeiramente desabotoadas de homens cansados de homens pouco vividos de jovens universitários e futuros resolvidos de fones de ouvido de jornais baratos sangrentos de saco cheio daquilo. Mas, encontrar você no fim do caminho, um segundo, aula, um intervalo, aula, um almoço. Te chamar de menina, não de moça, como chamo as atendentes da clínica do exame de sangue. Os dias são secos, eu nem lembro como é a chuva. Só sei que quando te arranho por debaixo da camisa, fica uma marca, que nem branca é, porque branca já é sua pele. E as aulas tornam-se difíceis, matam-me o amor, eu faço uma lista, anti-amores: distância, escola secundarista técnica, mais do que cinco latas de cerveja, conhaque (em qualquer dose maior que uma dose, mas você nunca mede), dias quentes e secos demais (salvo aqueles deitados no chão frio da minha casa, de ventilador ligado, sem camisa, e corpos ainda suados, “eu ganhei um tapete”), conversas de família em almoços e lanches da tarde – hoje ninguém mais janta – salvo os assuntos animados, nos primeiros trinta minutos de conhecer família. Mas, passado isso tudo, ainda tem um mundo, esperando lá fora, eu só conto as horas, tu sorri e choras, mas a carne ainda é nova, e a pele ainda é lisa; a janela aberta faz entrar a brisa, e fica um pouco menos seco. Baldes d’água no nosso quarto.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4971633740903833313?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-32174226548368820722010-09-05T10:17:00.003-03:002010-11-03T19:45:57.779-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">quem são essas pessoas todas que me povoam?<br />que fazem meu gesto,<br />que gesto é meu? eu corro nas pessoas,<br />eu corro de olhares,<br />por todos os cantos<br />eu observo os santos nas paredes de outras casas<br />eu rio com os moradores<br />quão santos são<br /><br />que alegria é essa que eu carrego?<br />não nego, vivo, não nego<br />choro, rio<br />caudaloso é estar feliz<br />assim, de borboleta na ponta do nariz</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3217422654836882072?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-20766832577478536722010-09-05T10:15:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:47:39.289-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">Fecho o jornal<br />(baixo astral - cabível)<br />penso nas garotas,<br />oposto indomável,<br />posso perder todas<br />e posso ter só uma<br />mas no fim<br />ainda sou escravo<br />pois o amor<br />ainda é indizível<br />e não cabe<br />nas páginas fecháveis<br />do jornal.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2076683257747853672?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-12441067251706953792010-09-02T18:20:00.006-03:002010-11-03T19:49:41.507-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Eu acredito num mundo</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de pessoas, não de coisas,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de baixo pra cima</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de samba e de rima</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de festa, mas de trabalho,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu acredito</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas também sei do mito</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">do lúdico,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">sei que sou único</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e conheço cada dia mais</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">outros,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">que viram sorrisos</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">regado a suco ou cerveja,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">meu amor pelas pessoas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se faz na certeza</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de que são</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e são profundas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">acredito e desacredito</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">quando fico com medo, grito</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e ele responde silêncio...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1244106725170695379?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-55836226671811380702010-08-29T10:49:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:51:33.352-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults v:ext="edit" spidmax="1026"/> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout v:ext="edit"> <o:idmap v:ext="edit" data="1"/> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">se o universo todo me culpa,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu não o faço</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e tudo que é ((d)essa) palavra, rápido se quebra</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">porque desejo mesmo</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">só aquela velha febre,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de botar os olhos fundos, de graves olheiras</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">recostado à cabeceira,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">sobre tão suas tão nuas,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">curvas</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">carnes</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">acordar e já sofrer o desarme</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">perder todo o argumento</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">e toda a dor</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">(que seja um dia, um momento)</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">amor?</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5583622667181138070?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-58533782458471207902010-08-29T10:46:00.003-03:002010-11-03T19:52:41.132-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tenho um segundo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Um mundo inteiro</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tenho um inteiro</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Em mil pedaços</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tenho estilhaços</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">É seu coração</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tenho um palhaço</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Tens razão</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Que não se cansa</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Diz, sim ou não?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Dança, dança, dança</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Dentro de mim</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Força, isso sim</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Pra que ele nunca morra</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Se mova, se mova, se mova...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Se mova... se mova...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5853378245847120790?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-23456931650776970652010-08-21T10:09:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:53:31.391-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Seu café é muito doce</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>eu não reclamo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>eu não sei o que faço, eu tremo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>meu sorriso e minha poesia perto</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">de você são de criança, eu temo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>nossa amizade é um tecnicolor</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>nosso amor, sobra, esfarela, esmigalha, rasga, e ainda sobra</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">eu, menino</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">com sua boca seus olhos, rimo</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sismo de fazer tudo como imagino</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">você, menina</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">sinto poder dizer: sina</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>...num jardim de infância</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-2345693165077697065?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-83372007526923560482010-08-11T19:51:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:54:14.572-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">o despertador não desperta<br />a manhã não amanhece<br />mãos apenas, quero dizer, dedos...<br />é o quê se vê, puxando o cobertor<br />para até as orelhas<br />dedos magros, pele já marcada<br /><br />quero dizer, olhos...<br />apenas: sem óculos,<br />olhando<br />uma xícara de café no criado-mudo,<br />branca com pires, cerâmica de mãos,<br />pessoas trabalhando nos cafezais<br /><br />e a fumaça dançando a embriagá-lo<br />ora, um dia simplesmente se perde a hora<br />perde-se aquele compromisso todo<br />omisso de todo, interno de praxe<br />José ouve os chinelos arrastados, que horário seria?<br />...se já acordara Maria...<br /><br />o quarto<br />amarelado de velho<br />cheio de vida,<br />aliás, era ela própria<br />que se desenrolava sem hora.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8337200752692356048?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-38295193115806408842010-07-29T21:22:00.005-03:002010-11-07T15:54:19.338-02:00&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Vicio-me em mim. Fecho-me, guardo-me, preservo-me. Passo horas e horas sozinho. Me sufoco de solidão. Saio, caminho na rua e vejo o anoitecer tocando as paredes, arranhando-as com as suas unhas alaranjadas, últimos raios do Sol; escorregando até a linha do horizonte. Paredes. Paredes entre eu e as pessoas, trancadas em seus carros, atrás da fumaça de seus cigarros. As lanchonetes, os pontos de ônibus. Falta alguém, mas nada falta, todos faltam. Lágrimas, volto, me tranco num quarto. Ninguém, nem nas frestas dos tijolos, nem nos cantos dos cômodos, ninguém.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-3829519311580640884?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-11806635957894605432010-07-13T18:44:00.003-03:002010-11-07T15:54:42.031-02:00&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Leio qualquer coisa, mas já esqueço. Perdoe-me quem escreveu, mas meu olhar voa e volta pro que é meu. Um sorriso?... não, um choro. Penso nela e nela e nele, e coro. Imagino uma possibilidade de morte qualquer, de corte mulher. E esqueço, mas já esqueço? Me perco, estacado em feição de medo, na minha cama, imagino uma possibilidade de morte qualquer, em segredo. E cresço? Lanço raízes para todos os lados, domino o quarto, desejo um parto, claro!...<br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;">A noite cai, escurece, a solidão vem, (como se não existisse antes) me entristece. Não existia. E eu pensava nela e nela, ia e ia...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1180663595789460543?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-59202411664808332072010-07-13T18:00:00.002-03:002010-11-03T19:56:39.413-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>crises convulsivas de choro</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>acompanham qualquer constatação feliz que possa ter</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>depois de toda tarde de sol</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a noite cai e, impiedosa, o apazigua o fogo de vida</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>a(o )final, de cada orgasmo – abismo não se separa</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5920241166480833207?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-56879851362344646432010-07-07T20:30:00.001-03:002010-11-03T19:57:09.696-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>as pessoas não são certas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>as pessoas não se erram</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>as pessoas não são erradas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>as pessoas nunca erram nada</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>sentado no divã</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Davi viu logo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>que dali não saía,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>da vida, viva, ria</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Davi correu pra longe</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e seu amor hoje é seu onde</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e não é mais o que não esconde,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">tudo o que não é, é fonte.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5687985136234464643?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-55797596797492533492010-06-26T22:42:00.002-03:002010-11-03T20:00:36.148-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Um homem que desvia seu olhar</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>do trânsito, tão inóspito e improdutivo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>e o aponta para o que realmente importa</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>é atropelado.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Atropelam-se homem de sentimentos,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>mas também de cheiros,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de sabores,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>atropelam-se homens de dor.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Homens de olhar vidrado,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de pupilas dilatadas; captam toda luz</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>homens de olhar bonito,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>de olhos brilhando pela falta de cigarro,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>homens de amor... atropelados.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5579759679749253349?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-58722288273773813592010-06-17T20:56:00.002-03:002010-11-03T20:01:10.090-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Percebi... o que a calma filtra o mundo em minhas têmporas,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e elas não latejam mais.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que o ódio e a raiva, eu não devo ter medo de dize-los,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas, que rasgando no meu peito, (assaz)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">floresçam em explosão, mantenham-me vivo, pois me fazem sê-lo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e me servirem também de motor,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">são tudo o que me resta quando eu grito por dentro que o mundo não presta.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Ai!, da minha alma; ai, desta!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">que ainda morre cedo, cedo de amor.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-5872228827377381359?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-14600130290145713142010-06-16T19:32:00.003-03:002010-11-03T20:01:34.427-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Gosto de café ou som de violão</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>subjetivos, os seus olhares que a todo tempo fogem das </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">(nossas) palavras</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">correndo dos outros, correndo pra ficar só nos dois</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">me perfurando nos momentos que deve</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">e nos que se esquece de disfarçar,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">onde eu te acerto, você sem disfarce, cara a cara</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">Correndo. posso ficar, só</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.4pt;">mas vivo.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-1460013029014571314?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-9083658393245511482010-03-11T19:10:00.002-03:002010-11-03T20:02:07.612-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Solto um grito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>vejo o mundo mais bonito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>fico um pouco menos aflito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>levo a vida como um rito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>tudo quanto é poesia, cito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>tudo o que é verdade, mito</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-908365839324551148?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-78895798962868903452010-03-04T21:18:00.003-03:002010-11-03T20:04:17.865-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Construo...</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">pra ela</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">momentos inesquecíveis</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">pra mim</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">poços infindáveis</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-7889579896286890345?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-49414693848307304902010-02-25T18:57:00.001-03:002010-11-03T20:05:34.444-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 35.4pt;">hoje o céu é mais cinza<br />os passos no cimento mais ocos<br />o real é mais cocho<br /><br />as sílabas são ímpares<br />as idéias são díspares<br />as árvores se mexem como se nunca tivessem dormido</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4941469384830730490?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-45797414487199537452010-02-13T11:58:00.003-02:002010-11-03T20:06:40.810-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Eu gosto quando as respostas vêm com o vento. O sopro de um orixá, que balança as cabaças presas na parede, e aquele batuque calmo quebra o silêncio, e o olhar do homem saindo da rede e indo parar lá nas matas verdes que ainda não estão tão longe quanto seu pensamento chega. E ele chega lá trás dos montes, numa moça, numa família, numa casa cheia de crianças, numa vida ainda pra ter. A resposta vem num sopro, um vento...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Ele levanta, olha a casa pequena suja de terra, olha a estrada pra seguir, de terra. Coloca as cabaças nas costas, leva consigo algumas outras mudas de calças e blusas beges, deixa o sol bater na sua pele escura. Pra saber que a vida o espera, lá onde ele for chegar.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4579741448719953745?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-83092052982431210442010-02-09T14:26:00.001-02:002010-11-03T20:12:48.270-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Escrever sobre ela</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">escrever só me ela</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">escrever some, fica ela; Micaela,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Isabela, unha amarela,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">batom vermelho, boca dela</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">uma bocadela, uma mordiscada,</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">amor, discada</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">a ligação cortada</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">a garganta engasgada</div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-indent: 35.4pt;">de mim, não sai nada</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-8309205298243121044?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-43161662441899519902010-02-08T19:18:00.002-02:002010-11-03T20:14:36.157-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Estar numa corda bamba que liga um abismo a um precipício, estar vivo, muitos nomes. Estar sonhando, estar acordado, muitas cores. O coração batendo, bombeando toda e qualquer sensação para cada milímetro de alma que engasgar minha garganta seca. Inundada, minha palma da mão de tinta, busca na parede lisa, fria, branca e cocha o corpo alheio de um amor ou de um passeio; de um amigo, busco as cores escorrendo pelas pontas dos dedos meu choro, meu suor, meus humores, meu suco de vida, minha saliva, minha urina. Meu sangue, carrega tudo aquilo que eu já disse e me transporta até o universo do medo, eu não posso me guardar (em) segredo, e a cabeça toda submersa, estremecido, já uma criança esvaecida, me persegue a chuva vermelha, a pele rachada, a grávida. Me persegue a calada. Eu. só em silêncio: só, em silêncio.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-4316166244189951990?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-7218883663233567302010-02-08T18:40:00.004-02:002010-11-03T20:17:34.594-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Rasga toda a sua poesia</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga todo o seu peito</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga toda a sua vida </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a estrada atrás do que quer</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga do coração toda mulher</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o seu amor pelos amigos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tudo que tem</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tudo o que não tem</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga atrás de paz</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga atrás de dor</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga atrás de tudo aquilo que não pode ter</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga atrás de amor</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tudo que é belo no meio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga, rasga, rasga papel, rasga caneta, rasga sua boca</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga seu grito, rasga sua voz</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga seu silêncio</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga teu corpo em dois</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga os dois em um bilhão</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o céu, deixa as estrelas</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a lua, deixa o sol</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a luz e deixa ela o transcender </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a escuridão e deixa ela te consumir</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o folhetim diário</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o teu dicionário</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a tua língua</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga suas orelhas </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga seus costumes</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga seu dialeto, seu sotaque</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga sua arvore genealógica</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tudo que é lógica, tudo que é loja</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tudo o que não faz sentido</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o sentido de raiva</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o incontido... explode</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a ti e ascende</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o fundo do poço aonde cai seu corpo</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a namorada distante</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a amante</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga com quem bebes nos bares</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga as lágrimas que deixas-te nos mares</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga amares</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a mais bonita das fotos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a louça, rasga os copos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tua roupa</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o seu nu, rasga os teus pêlos</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga tuas vontades</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga a tua preguiça</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o seu sofá</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga o teu patuá</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>rasga-se e vês o que tem</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Nada!... rasga! </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-721888366323356730?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-62295000663551316552010-01-31T23:06:00.005-02:002010-11-03T20:18:56.208-02:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:HyphenationZone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabela normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;}</style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults v:ext="edit" spidmax="1026"/> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout v:ext="edit"> <o:idmap v:ext="edit" data="1"/> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;">Você me ama? Então, grita na minha orelha, porra, berra até eu cansar. Me faz escutar seu coração pela garganta. Sangra pelos lábios. Eu quero é a verdade, nada das suas dicas, nada desses seus subjetivos pra me conquistar devagar. Eu quero te amar em um beijo, eu quero te conhecer inteira numa noite.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6229500066355131655?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8548127361118060497.post-68843835240374296412010-01-30T17:12:00.001-02:002010-01-30T17:12:07.246-02:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Guilherme é daqueles caras enjoados, ele tem nome de enjoado. Passa muito tempo com os fones estourando, dizendo “sabe quando você quer que o mundo exploda um pouquinho? Eu tô assim”. Guilherme se comunica com seus amigos pela internet, combina de ir assistir filmes, adora os de zombies, destruição mundial e afins. Gosta de ver como as pessoas sobrevivem. Ele gosta da família, mas evita as reuniões e as tias que lhe doem as bochechas. Diz que é revoltado, houve Rage Against The Machine e sabe cantar todas as músicas. À noite sai com os amigos e fica bêbado. Usa camisas brancas e escreve nelas com canetas de quadro que rouba da escola. Usa jeans que ele mesmo rasga, mas gosta de comprar aqueles que já vêm assim, diz que são bem feitos. Duas vezes por semana acorda de madrugada e fuma um cigarro enquanto ensaia caras pensativas “olhando a cidade queimar” da janela. Vai a shows e lá sempre perde seus isqueiros. Gosta de dispensar as sacolas plásticas e economizar água, mas acha que o mundo não tem mais jeito e “o Greenpeace é só falação”. Odeia ler. Suas notas na escola são só o suficiente para ser aprovado. Tenta não caçoar dos outros, mas acaba soltando piadinhas pelas quais tem vontade de pedir desculpas depois; nunca pede. Tem vários amigos, mas poucos no sentido real da palavra, e sabe disso. Gosta de jogar bola de vez em quando, não quer ter filhos, acha que talvez encontre alguém com quem até aceitaria se casar, se não fosse na igreja. Anda com os olhos sempre putos e as mãos tremem um tanto. Não gosta de lugares muito cheios, ri de piadas inteligentes, vai aos...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8548127361118060497-6884383524037429641?l=arturbic.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Artur Bicalhohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17659590599730513112noreply@blogger.com0