abandoned shadows, the thick walls, noise family, friendship books, the snuff, feathers, dried the ceiling; to fly away, desperately.
Below: in the dark, bitter cornices, the desolate streets, lanterns sleepwalkers, the dead chimneys rumors tired desperately.
Now everything was quiet, simulated disaster large pools of shadow, downpours, lightning, stray islets of unstable banks; but I kept flying, desperately.
A flash naked scorching light got in my way, I was fascinated death, but managed to escape of its deadly influence, to keep flying, desperately. Still
fate of worlds closed cases, disoriented my flight -of-stellar record with their vain parables and false halos, but I kept flying desperately.
I pressed the fluid, the clarity solid vacuum frosted inaudible the distance, the hollow soundproof, rest stifling but still flying, desperately.
already there was nothing, nothing was absent; nor darkness, nor fire, nor -heavenly-hands no life, no destination, no mystery, no death, but still flying, desperately.
(Oliveira Gironde)
