By

Same Place

RUNNING IN THE SAME PLACE Belo Horizonte, 17-01-1977 It is night. The fog dominates. I go walking for the street In way to the cinereous color it space poludo. Badly divided the shade Of the person who if approaches. Perhaps an assassin, Perhaps a mmia. I think then: Everything this is useless, Until thinking.

The more, to think about mmias Or then about one duende. In the world where we vegetate Has as many useless things, That the happiness Alone is victorious When these things die. Suddenly, when the sun Manufactured the day In full dawn, it did not run away to the Previously definitive rule. I saw everything with clarity, and I saw everything with sadness. I was overwhelming I eat if he swam In an intense sea of tension, That in the ones of the one certain distance to make us to come back To the starting point, In an ironic order, In an arrogant voice, In an imperial voice That does not admit rejoinders, That do not admit dialogues. Nobody dared, therefore, To be an exception To this lasts rule. All knew of this. Everything exists in the life, Is alone the person to live and will know what I say. Yesterday it was of a form, Today is another one with different form, But the model is the same.