Aranhas

Aranhas medonhas
Me machucam, me mordem,
Com ferrões ferrenhos
Me enclausuram na morte.
Eu preso na teia,
Transada em ilusões
Só minhas, clareiam,
Sem quaisquer alusões,
Sentimentos serenos
De que eu sou são.

Aranhas malditas!
Amo o seu veneno,
Revira a carne,
O rosto em desprezo,
Da volúpia vinda
Fulgurou a certeira.
Pobre falangídeo,
Causa medo, não dor,
Aranhas que lembram
De que eu sou são.

Tenho uma certeza na vida,
Fora a morte tão conhecida:
Quero ser entomologista
Aracno-especialista.

No pants and a hat

I

There once was a man with no pants. His head could not be described the same, he wore a hat. Something odd: in his house hangers, but no coating on the couch. Could there be a reason? A pigeon has no feathers if it fails to admit.

II

Golden foil on the windows. The trembling orb warms the wrist.

Excuses me, I should like some water, Mr. Faucet. The hair is an extension of the brain, best to be taken care of. Stoops, little bird, it tastes better sideways. Is there any more eggs, Mr. Fridge? A healthy meal keeps the mind sane. Nice to see you, Mr. Paper, what news brings you today? It musts be the beadle, it cans only be the beadle.

III

The parrot sang, but the hum was yet another: a car roaming down the street. A soft glance could not foresee, what commotion it would be.

IV

Stop. Walk. Investigate. Hit: knock, knock.

Mr. Door, coulds you open for our visitor? Oak is as good as birch.

Greet him. Ask for his health. Fake interest.

Hey, comes in. Does you want to sit? Sits on Mr. Couch. A good cushion makes pain easy.

Sit. Talk. Fake interest.

Does you want coffee? I can make with Mr. Coffeemaker. Caffeine clears throat to sing.

Get up. Follow him. Pet parrot. Hit: ouch, ouch.

Why?! It's the beadle! It's the beadle! I am lost! I am lost!

V

Feathers. Pants on broken ties. No wrists are warmed. Hair starring at the silver.