a man wanted to pass through me, and i was sleeping as if i had left the present world, i was carried so deeply away, and i saw his eyes,
he had small black eyes, elongated like two cheetahs,
like a willow that is just beginning to turn green it bent towards me
he left his hand on my left shoulder as if it were water,
he touched me gently as you would touch a drunken man who had fallen into a ditch and for fear of not scaring his death or the ditch, for fear of not disturbing, you would touch him with a kind of respect, you would shake him gently, gently, with love-in-the-eyes you would rock him and rock him as if you were rocking a baby in a cradle of bread like in the old days
with the astonishment of the mortal to whom the stars are not so well arranged, you stop stiffly as if by this pretty treatment, even so dead, you would still want to take something from him,
stiff as a mummy with two coins on the eyes, you look at him, from that moment you are the gambler,
but
as i was telling you, last night a man came to pass through me and i was deeply asleep, after which like a fool i turned to the other side and took him by the hand to do the rolling, like a  roll of fabric we rolled, we kept rolling ...
and now he also has his  night like mine where he sleeps deeply deeply away
like forgetting
until he reaches the other side...

it is well known, cats do only what they want and dream about,
it is much easier to train a dog or take care of a baby elephant ( lost from the herd
when the parents are looking for water&food and he is left behind)

i step into Otto's skin, it's tight, dark and cold,
i hear meowing... the first thought is: i hope the little one is not alone in the rain,
i roll in his skin as if the cats domesticated the man,
i go in, i come out, it is wet and cold inside, Otto is sneezing,
he's allergic to people, like bukowski, he hates their dogs,
cats, their cars, hates everything they do, and have,

Otto does not understand why felines came to be considered sacred,
in a literary language he shouts&swears: - you illiterate creature,
you don't even know how to calculate 5X33c. feet of rope,

i insist and step again into Otto's skin, his eyes are slippery as mercury,
i look from inside at them, i blink without noticing
and gave him a handkerchief

Captain Hook
i know, you've got scars that can be seen with an open eye,
and yet, when i look at your long curls like stalactites, i wonder
why don't you tell me more,
i know for sure, you'll have fun seeing my relatives,

hope the numbness in your right hand is gone,
it's one thing when peter pan cuts your left and quite another
when you die with the sword in your right,

are there eyes bluer than the sky to see through the waves
and salt
when i bite your nails, devotee,
when my lips cover your lips, silently (the only way to survive)

but if your right hand dies how will you carry your cross,
how are you going to gather yourself at one point when
the pinky/ring fingers sit nicely in the middle of the palm like yin/yang,
forget-me-nots,

Note: Mr. Hook, if you really want something the desire must be greater than the column of infinity or the tip of your nose.

it is always the same
restless and sad
one for all, like the sun
like the moon
flowers
tears

only the words change

sometimes love is like a superficial vein full of varicose,
swollen, twisted,
stretched to unsightly, non-existent,
unbearable
sometimes love is a venous collapse that leads to the reduction of veins
cold-blooded, skilled surgeons, we'll remove it like the longest vein
without the leg being affected,
only the blood that has passed through it will slowly change its course
and the saphena, available, will patch a coronary bypass,
pointing at her with our fingers, we'll shout: look at her, she wears a crown,
she became queen too

*dear, who will turn the blood from your sole to your thigh again
when our love will be only a second-degree relative,

we need more hospitals

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need more money

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need more schools

i say, we need Mothers

they tell me, we need war, revolutions, power

i tell them, we need Mothers, we need Mothers
Mothers we need,  Mothers
i scream,  we need Moooothers

Are
Brutal
Harsh  
And juicy-tender,  like
Punched oranges
Lovers
Are,
The Lambs,
The Warriors, of this world,
Lovers
Are,
The impossible, cruel people,
Because you can't stop them,
You can't help them,

You just can't,

i just found out today that on poemhunter.com
on the 26th of January, The Child of The Sun was selected as the  POEM OF THE DAY:
and this makes me very very happy  🙂

The Child of The Sun

it is a shadow,

of the tree
dark lighting
at the zenith of the day, tasting
the sweat on the man's forehead

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

of grass
opaque existence
angle of light
in the calmness of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

silently
following the man, to the water spring
in the valley of springs

the mother sun
quenches its thirst
with the tears of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

i close my eyes
to see you i close my eyes,
the world suddenly is leaving
entirely
is leaving, of its  own accord, is leaving,
    is falling like an eyelid, tired
on the keys of a piano, the stillness of the morning covers us,  white
white,
bleached by the winter, waiting for the pious sound,
waiting
for the snowdrops to bloom

you write and write until you take off onto your own orbit to await your birth,
death,
or love
- face your gods,
obey like a blind man & say your prayer:
thank you, God, thank you for being so good to me
and blessing me with a certain degree of forgetfulness & ignorance

dreams

*dreams are of great comfort to the one alive
&
to the one dying

the best thing on earth is when you breathe
and the night, like a lollipop lures you, by bringing you sweet sleep,  sometimes
and  other times taking it away,
and when you're alone and taxes don't scare you anymore,
and  the rent no longer is waiting for you, the wife is threatening no one,
children stopped screaming, we want, dad doesn't leave but he doesn't wake up either,
the best thing is God, -  God takes you in his arms like a man patched up with love
and you close your eyes and dream how the best thing on earth is to breathe freely

We'll have to choose dear
we shall
to choose not between the colors of the sky or the earth,
religion and God
We must pick it up dear, we must
pick
not the stars of the night, nor the flowers of the day,
secretly, my darling, secretly
we shall
extract this tear from the past that never left
and  didn't even start like a lightning
without death
and no answer, we shall, my  dear
begin with ”the end”, like on the big set of paramount pictures,
let's put this spiky cat on the wall
and return, free and happy, like the first people,
ladybug,
carry me on your palms, darling
i”ll hold you close to my chest like an armful of dry branches
good for fire

speak to me like the sea, and
i did speak to you like the sea, but
when i opened my eyes and looked better
you were not  there anymore

castaway

we use words to stay on the surface

beneath  each word
we find the emptiness of the sea, comforting
when we reach the Mundus point, at will
the blood flows like a waterfall as if has no past and no future,
then maybe
maybe
in a wildly literary language confronted/confused with a word
or two:  gentlemen, how do you feel about being scalped?
- thank you, we feel extremely well, gentlemen,  as you know
at the tip of the tongue, we find everything we are looking for (the needle,... the cannon...)
and
a samurai's sword is nothing but his soul, - baked dough  în empty eggs,
a clot in the veins,
vessels of..., vessels for...

shipwrecked

we use words to stay on the surface like a healing bruise
healing by itself

the silence of yesterday
forgot about the wings that caressed the wind,
the wind
also no longer wears the leaves in its hair, - brides lying in the soft grass,
the grass
does not count stars anymore, does not  wash its head in the clouds,
with the thread glued to the ear of the earth, it is listening to the silence after the silence, probably
it will snow tomorrow
slow
&smooth
&white
white, at the edge of the forest, it will snow again, and the bear's tooth
stuck in the trunk of a tree will again give birth
  two or three bears helpless, furless and
blind,
but
it won't be a problem, nursing them until the second spring
they will grow very very fast
as always

it is snowing

slow
monotonous snow
with the patience of a lazy bear
it falls
across the church (now, an antique shop)
on the left, the abandoned house, tonight, wishes
may she also be seen by the stones, like a miner
has a light on its forehead,
in front of our house, the bulb lights burn  and
are in competition with the farm on the hill,
the snow settles comfortably on every single  tree,
I wonder,  scientifically, how much snow can a tree hold,
but some twigs?
I pray for the snow  to keep falling,
the roofs, you  would say, are kufi hats thrown from the sky,
we don't know when it will snow again,
the world is gossiping: global warming, the earth is heating up,
I think it's the other way around, the sky warmed up again
and the earth is cold
cold,
as if embalmed to stop its decomposition

*

the sky, as usual
sacrifices itself

it is snowing  white-gray

snowing

Nobody knew I am on the road
Except for Ronda,

I had new responsibilities,
The money helped to  survive with food, heat, and electricity,

Every Monday
I go back to the bush, and she took care of the home,

It was just live,

And it was good,

Because we cared for each other,

We met in a strange way,

The toilet was filled with  ****,

They were living like this, and being taken advantage of,
Nobody has to leave in those conditions,
For food, she was getting money from her father,  a  trapper, and fisherman,

I wanted to take care of her, and Wendy,  her little daughter,

Ronda was looking for love in a relationship,

She knew that would take care of her.

The trailer where she was living, that trailer was on her father's property,
The property was big enough, a refrigerator plant, that kept the hunting food frozen for the winter,
It had other places where he can put a dead hunted body,

I tried my best.

What did she do after you were gone?

She found love,

Ronda,  Wendy, Teresa,

I am not there,

So much shame, so much regret,

I was working up in Ear Falls, a gold mine,  more than a mile deep into the earth,
Working with my  hands, explosives

So much shame,
So much regret,
I lived with the pain of not holding, not even once,  holding my daughter in my arms,

Explosives, made by the Chinese, invented by the  Nobel,
He made all his money by selling gunpowder, blowing out the earth,
And this is where the mining started,  
After each  explosion, we go down into the mine and  take the all rock out with our hands,

All my life I lived with the pain of not holding my daughter in my arms,

Later he invested in Nobel prizes,
but,
She knew
Love will take care of her.

the sky tonight is green
as if
the darkness falls, upon awakening from one dream to another,
swallowing our hearts
to make stars
without fear to taste the hights,
without hearts, we turned yellow like corn on the side of the road,
in the distance
skilled stripper, aurora borealis sheds her clothes,
astonished
i watch her
the drums ruffle its feathers

like a sleepy bird
the sky reddened by so much night
falls&sleeps on the branches

souls occupy themselves with trifles

like a spanish fly

estranged
în melancholy
and silence

my soul

cranches everything
and all,
lives in a golden-green cantharidin world
with its (specific) strange
smell

(but I guess it's better to feel something than nothing)

but
to get to you
i need Maria
to take me
on the water
her legs
to touch the ground
for me to fly
her hands embrace the wind
for me to caress your cheeks
with the palm
to part your hair like a path
as lips touch your forehead
to taste the fire of today
i need Maria
to bring me to you

Some virtual friends,
virtual family,
brothers,
virtual sisters could not find me today: where did you get lost,
do you live in the forest, at the end of the world,
has any catastrophe happened?
the green dot does not appear, you don't blow hearts in the air,
balloons,
the kittens are fewer and fewer on fb:

My dear virtual friends,
dear virtual family,
what can i say or write you,
suppose a catastrophe had happened or would happen,
i think (i'm a human)
what could i write you from all that catastrophe, and how much, and
how, and
whence, and
how could i tell you that i need a glass of water, if i needed one,
how could i tell you that i need a crutch, if i needed one,
who to look for, how to find you, call the ambulance,
firemen,
how
and how much, and where, and
how could i hug you, and
could you hug me??
*
My dears,
don't worry,
i am in good health: i watered the flowers, i walked the dog
i did the laundry (like any other person),
i cooked a lot of food this weekend, like at home
i cooked enough for twenty people,

Don't worry my dears,
i am in good health,
it's just that day today,
i missed people
people,
real
people.

her skin, cast ointment:
prepare me for death, woman,
my darling, you fall
slowly
as a flake fall in my white hands,
do not rush,
come with the torch  and let's light the fountains,
release your aroma slowly,
soothing kindles, fire in the silky miter,
darkness is your cure, sweetness,
i will stay with you from the beginning to the end,
pour yourself into the rings of the hungry belly,
and when the fight between the angels happens,
i will give you  the mana from heaven,
only in her skin do angels speak,
only she knows the language of angels.

you don't need to be with someone at that moment

it's  intimate

too intimate

maybe

a little breeze will be all you”ll need

like a kiss on your chin

or forehead

I  would prefer calm rain

as if

someone still will want to cry for me like in the old days

like when people were dressing up in black
caring neatly folded handkerchiefs

a dream

lost in thought
chin dropped to chest
clumsily will take it out
to shed a tear

then
bent like a willow

will leave


but

if the sunrise

the sunrise will come down with me
when the birds pour forth their song
and the thick grass breathes the sleep of first lovers

or

maybe

late rains will come on their own
in the winged world will come
for the thirsty  one

Watercolor Cat, Watercolor Cat,
You are the most wonderful Watercolor Cat I have ever could dream about,
And I wonder, my friend Watercolor Cat, and admire you perplexed and mesmerized,
Tell me, how you know and how you do that you stand up straight and mastered this dignifying posture,
Like a masterpiece,
And these yellow eyes, like sunflowers, while sitting on a such big stone, on a such long road
When you are not a red cat or white, and not even lost, but
Just an easy touch of lilacs that comes with the sunrise and leaves at sunset on the shores of volga,
My friend, Watercolor Cat, when I see you standing up like this with all your pride, sharp years, and flying tail,
You suddenly are the most blue-yellow cat in the sky, like you swallowed the sun with your wondering eyes.
Why do you wonder my dear friend, Watercolor Cat, why do you wonder and look like you are waiting for something wonderful to happen.

not the time to invent something new
this is the time to remember
…

let us go,

let us go, gentle,

let us go tender,

and do not ask where, and do not speak with anyone
when,
let's leave this ridiculous time and leave these ridiculous hearts
and let the yellow fog do the dance and imitate the night
for us
blind turtles lost in fields,  half asleep and half awake,
if what i hear is true, let's pass the pinning world, white teeth,
no one could guess, where, and when we have a place to kiss,
a place to love,
let us go, darling, and climb on turtleback like those without legs,
like those without eyes,
without a place to go
let's leave and
move slowly, darling, and move gently, and tender, and
careful
let's move like we don't go anywhere

nature”s most precious gift
we all have a love affair with it,
and we all know that  sooner or later it will serve us well
in good times and in bad times, it will serve us well
like  an actor that is ready to make a leap into
singing, acting his best role
delivering an oscar  performance to his audience,
&because of it
some of us are stellar performers
no matter what

fixed
dreaming eyes
heading towards long iland.

the sitting lady:- i like your shoes, they must be comfortable.
the standing lady:- they are.
how about yours?
& looks down at the lady with the pink shoes.

- mine sweat, &smell like strawberries.

the lady with the pink crocs takes photos of other people's shoes,
suddenly
jumps like bitten by a snake
screaming
- open the door, open the door,
i go the other way.

penn station

walking out

the crowd
&skyscrapers
&the heat
advertising lights

all hit us straight in the face

everyone seems to be easy-busy
&very nice

exited like rabbits
  enjoying the new new york era:

rickshaw bikers are welcoming us

Monako ( meat)
Aebi (water)
Bala ( honey)
Manaketa (corn porridge)
Hunting at night
Zebra
Baboons

A rat is still food,

We don't eat hyenas (they can eat people)

We fear Lions,  
Black mamba ( we cut their head and throw them far away)

The moon?

The full moon is not  good,
Too much light,

Look the baboons are out!!

They smile

the dawn rises over the forest,
the dawn promised to wait for us
in the eyes of the eagle the drums smile
and dance
eagles jump up, take turns around the lake,
one round, the second  round ... fourth,
the drums hit the sky,
feathers fall off,
smoothly
are falling, and
are kissing the grass, and
are kissing the earth
when the eagles come down and down
with the beak  are catching the fish
from below waters
the thundering sounds swear the waterfall to be combed by the sun
when drummers smolder all year round
like the star of the night,
smolder like coal extracted from the hearts of ojibwe people

like a wind that burns your chest
we did it again
we  did it the same
again
soul made from milk, hold me
cover me
wrap me in your clay
like a lost child weeping in the streets
without villages, cities
without a country
or a mother
born in war
warm me in your nest under the eaves
you know? sometimes you can't be found  anywhere
and even i know we are not from here
and all is fado, - meat in the ditch
grave in the sea
i'm still looking for you everywhere
then
i return to our house in the air
in the air

now

if we don't love now
fall on our knees, now
if we don't cry out loud, now, if we don't tear apart our clothes  right now,
if  tears don”t  crack the stones, now
and  hearts don”t jump like ping pong ***** on fire, now,  when we are twisting  this strand of hair,
if you don't touch my chin,  lightly,  like a feather, lightly, now,
now
the gaze, fiery samurais cutting off our eyes with  leaves,  shattering mustard bellies, - in white webs,
spiders,
in the blink of an eye, releasing air with no shores,
no reins
endless, now
lips, hot steam,
in the blink of an eye, we raise wild rainbows in the clouds,
when? if not now,  we caress the lightning with the tongue of longing, in the blink of an eye,
if  we don”t taste the lilac in between our teeth, now,
when, and how,  
and who”ll take care of us when we are angry,
tired
and
sad
and
forgotten by  the world
left alone
grieving in a naive tremor:

- lovers do not meet at one end, not at the other,  but
have always been in each other:

- well, well… but who will take care of us when we are old, alone, and sick
if we don't touch each other,  now,  like two people

i will not blind you,
and I will not strike you with my brightness,
if you want to find me
you will always find me in the same place, on its axis
motionless,
endearing statue admiring the cute pigeons kissing,
i will not run after the sun,
i will not run after other stars, or
after the moon
for
i'm not made to walk from place to place,
not when the sun ribut not even at sunset,
if you want, in a day
or a century
you'll find me still,
for
the sky is moving for me,
you will always find me in the same place,
saguaro flower surrounded by stars,
and
if you want to see me
without the horizon or the height of the celestial heaven staying our way
you could move to sweden,
i will not blind you,
and i won't hit you like thunder,
and, if you want, even it might take  several years
i could clone myself as the southern cross,
or
in the little cloud of magellan,
and if you want to be the big cloud, there are proven advantages that in their strangeness they are poorer in metals than the milky way,
but,
better, though, i'd say, it is more practical to wait for you in sweden


#polaris

in the middle of the night, when you can't stand the light of the cross,
let the groan of your body caress the dreams of the water,
with the tears of your fruit,  flood the earth when
your bleached lips untie the prayer of the mind,
and heaven from heaven, - and hell from hell shall cry unto thee
give birth to me, humble delight, let”s build a sacred crown
in the skin of the moon, with red flowers, the baby is born in may,
a broken branch from the stalk of the eclipse, at His mercy, forever,
destiny, lucky star in the mystery of exaltation by words.

april,
full pink moon,
it snowed yesterday, and still today
many
many clouds of light, like a

statue

i wonder if the light remembers itself,
if the moon knows when it's called  (by nasa) the supermoon  or the pale moon,
when it brings frost, rain,
*******,
ovulation
if it takes any credits,

last week at the corner of my house the storm ripped apart half a tree,
does it remember where?
does it remember the putrefied roots, dry branches blown by the wind,
does it remember the one that still fights,

i look out the window,

the cat jumps from branch to branch, plays with the blue jays,
who memorizes who? initially, it seems, that the cat is provoking the birds,
squatting on a thicker branch awaits the next move,
i have my moments too,
i understand, the truth never barks,
and does not caress you like a kind mother
it also doesn't  kiss you where you want to be kissed

for thousands of years,

it is rumored that many know it, but
the raw reality is that truth is autistic,
the gifted child
genuinely likes the same food, the same road, the same coat,  color,
stops at the red pass when is green, it simply knows what is right,
like a donkey clings to the same people,
roars at the same gate,

it is the only one equipped with the kick under the belt,
it  hits the careless on the scruff,
the rest on the forehead, in the belly,
it hits with a  fist,  feet,  or sledgehammer, like a rumble of  thunder,  a bomb,
it bites by the ear, by the nose,
it's mike tyson,  the greatest puncher of all time,

despite it all

net theater, all kinds of reinvented creatures, weird characters talking about the belt,
they want to abort it and  flutter it on the (right) cheek of jeofrrey de peyrac,
more than likely, to cover the cracks in the palace of culture (the experts
explaining: it is an adaptation response to fresh rehabilitation),

no joke

the truth has nothing to do with adaptation, those in  trend, the saviors of the world,
a boomerang doesn't know about smart people, bullies, or others…

a boomerang is a boomerang

try to make a bow from a boomerang, or a parachute
and you'll have princess diana's headache on her  wedding day; migraine sweet migraine
cancer, brain tumors,
titmouse constipation, broken teeth on TV,
viol in viol, - in,

i don't want to write about what I have  in mind,
i know nothing (tell yourself: big deal), and
i don't want to wash my brain with your memorized truth

*
reality is much harsher than a halloween decorated pumpkin,
when memory mocks you
every morning you wake up smaller and smaller
a shrimp,
stretching back and forth like tasteless chewing gum
promising
hailstones solidified between tangible and inaccessible
free play up and down the column
abandoned (does not mean we are free from mistakes, and responsibilities)
whether we happen or not, all that is not only ours
here or there we are bubble-to-bubble
missing
the freedom with respect to destiny
...
but how about the parrot?
when the truth happens like the full moon, live
în pink flesh
once a month
ones a year,
per century,
once in the millennium
...

in an even more distant land
where love is a devil eating chains
at a big banquet
hope, a hungry wolf admiring him with lust,
I will go to a country
where souls are called like soldiers in an unconscious war
underground
the curse, a gentle baby suckled by the grass
****** death,  our joy
anger, flying stars
fear, dancing bride
tears broken kisses from victoria waterfall
rain, crayfish in tomato sauce,

let's get rid of this winter
I'm ready to do anything
but anything,
I"ll make death from the water
and  life from the swords,
red blood  shine like the sun,

white and beautiful
this winter wants everything to look like mastery that caresses our eyes,
bears in a den,
when I feel crying like a naughty child
I will go far, far away...
where the earth trembles under your voice
and sad eyes  hug like two prayers on the streets of philadelphia

like a wind that burns your chest
we did it again
we  did it the same
again
soul made from the mother's milk soul, hold me
cover me
wrap me in your clay
like a lost child weeping in the streets
without villages, cities
without a country
or a mother
born in war
warm me in your nest under the eaves
you know? sometimes you can't be found  anywhere
and even i know we are not from here
and all is fado, - meat in the ditch
grave in the sea
i'm still looking for you everywhere
then
i return to our house in the air
in the air

life is like a well-compressed gunpowder

one match is enough, bang, immediate effect,  blows everything up
you give it space, you leave too much room
you will not see a spark,

likewise, when the man suffers the spirit is constrained
to wake up
explode, strive
ready to hear when the person moans, whimpers at night

in pain, the spirit rejoices in its own language
and why he wouldn't enjoy
when there is enough work to do for the next hundred years
to dig up the springs
raise the stars (like night)
or like the wind
to sway the waves of the sea to the shore

man, man

you search yourself and you search  yourself for life
the same as when macaca is searching for lice:

- with the monkey sister you nibble on your belly
- with the monkey brother you nibble on your back

- the monkey god
after getting tired of stealing (from tourists):
slippers, sunglasses, bags
lipsticks, thong *******
it goes up on your head
to lice you a little bit more
to tickle your scruff

you're looking for her
but she's right there
where else to be
when carried away by the waves
in white snow
discovering
the wind

only you know, humble and hungry dog
the insatiable as you do expect
to lick her legs, and
only you know
that
you promised her round two
(when you already gave it all in round one)

oh, man, man

you are looking, and looking for yourself

macaca shakes its hand: - if you have nothing better to do

look




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the universe
it is
a superb creation
perfect
elegance
majestic

while
in its random reality
one thing is certain:
- it is the worst construction
constructed
ever, who believes
doesn't know-
many constants
of arbitrary coupling
mass ratios
families
and families, and families of useless particles
& dark matter, - chewing gum on a stick

gross fact

the universe exists

pregnant abyss
established chain
a fire that breathes equations
while the truth is looking for its head and tail

certainly

by wandering the mind
hallucinating
it cannot be canceled

- the crime of thoughts
it is not its death

wet, wandering free on the streets,
sly, you looked into my eyes exaggerating with a cough: - i think i'm getting a cold,
isn't it the best rain,
the best day,
hug,
in the warmth of a hug, we melted like butter in each other's arms,
it was spring,
and it was the saturday before easter,
an aunt selling flowers on the sidewalk in the voivodeship park
she pointed out to us: - what a lack of education,
look at them, wet and without common sense
and respect, they kiss in the eyes of the world
today, on a easter saturday,
today's youth is  in disarray,
(she looked around seeking consolation, approval from passersby)



he was the lover that every woman carries within her from birth,
he caressed not as if he longed to be satisfied as a skilled lover,
he was soft and tender as a little kitten,
all he wanted was to stay inside her forever: without getting lost,
without taking up space, silent, without demands, pretensions wanted to stay there like a zygote,
a single cell resulting from the fusion of gametes,
without mouth, without eyes, lips, nose,
just  an embryo with a large forehead
which began the life cycle immediately after fertilization
and continues to weave the organs, the body (like when the bees  build the hive)
to mix life, the light that passes only through her womb.



he suddenly jumped up and down:
- this must be the realm between heaven and earth,
he started telling me everything he remembered,
yes everything
it was as if he was rolling like a snowball towards his own center

a knock on your door

  open the door

tonight the presence returned

let the steps lead you to the other side of the door

make your way
trough the light of rocking branches, nursing little buds
in the distance
the snow caresses their sleep
the wind
from time to time
is shaking the remnants of fright

  shards of crystal on the floor

between
no and yes

when you hear a knock on your door

open the door

consider the invitation

if i ever wanted to start over, where would i go:
- i return to the balcony on patrice lumumba street,
on the third floor, i see two ruins around our souls,
modern talking, brother louie is playing,
i wrap myself around your fingers like slimy playdough,
we go home, i see the apple tree in the cemetery, we pick apples:
- let me kiss you on your lips, let me kiss, - we are friends too,
i try to remember what i was looking for among the crosses and owls,
your mother was taking the cheese pies out of the hearth,
it's getting dark, we've put everything together,  waiting for her to fall asleep,
everything that happens, the tray falls and the bread shovel falls from the nail,
deadly silence on the village road, since then
we meet every ten years across the road
speechless, i look at you, you look at me,
father vasile sprinkles holy water, sanctifies the graves.

because it  burns  you
you don't like the sun
and the shadow doesn't buy a story,
It knows its edges and the milky ways,
attached to a leaf tail
chlorophyll counts its rays,
***** energy from its light,
- we grow elephant ears,
our heads have shrunk like the peak of a needle
bifurcated,
time does not lie
instead of being permanently bent
head
now it is one meter above the ground
hands / feet / thighs
we do everything we want in upright bipeds
yes,
to get out of africa
we walked thousands of years until we  picked up "the first thumb up"
then again we walked thousands of years,
we raised the thumb up again
thousands of years ... thumb (up) drive one gigabyte,

time does not lie

- i saw you at the țoțora in the polk of medhorotsky,
with the toma from brăila digging  ditches to keep your feet lower,
at a french carnival, you loved a girl and called her by the name
consuelo, mon amour, consuelo, - you wielded swords,
used feathers to write (with the blood) on a soap bubble
you were looking for

the time that does not lie

did you say:

- the night is just beginning to taste like molasses
- from afar, you see love like a bloated balloon lost in the distance
- to recognize the shape of the earth, i have to feel the stars beneath my feet,
to see the one above my head
- people are programmed to see faces even in sandwiches,
to believe strange things, that they can walk on the water or
like in little prince  to believe a talking fox: “though the eyes are eyes, they cannot see,
only the heart can,
tame a flower, and you”ll see that time does not lie ... ”
then what can you expect from the sun
when it burns like a madman in the wilderness and dances like a *****,

hallucinate

they say we are 13.7 billion light-years from the edge,
how  the sun not to like you when it heard you singing a song without a sound,
so simple and clear,
and now every morning it brings you a basket of jackfruit at the gate,

be ”the edge” truth or assumption,
”the foam that forms us and breaks into a vast cloud of styrofoam bbs” (Ken”s words)
who knows, otherwise
it seems that we are close to knowing the real shape of the earth:
jump up, fall on it, is  not  moving,
standstill and solid,
it doesn't matter which way you want to go
you can go in any direction
go far enough
go as far as you can
you will always reach the ocean

did you say:
- we live on an island

i will see you, my love
soon
i will see you in a windless country, in a thoughtless world,
with swords, we”ll cut off all roads in the air, from the earth
with our eyes, we”ll dress them up  in feathers of rio abre-alas,
open wings
one day soon, in the valley on the farm
seduced by the dry edge of the grass
crushed under the earth furrow we”ll forget about ourselves,
we”ll fall like a snow belt in the winter, slow, slow,
lazy to get lost in goosebumps, yellow,
create and raw, soon
the sun will call us to a world where love is truly blind
and deaf,
and mute,
and putrefied like an old woman,
older than stone,  birds, air
water
red angels, maybe one day soon
soon
our love will be easy,
so eeeeeeeasy
as easy as blue cheese mold on the tongue,
like a blues that is digging our thirst at night
like a lip gloss broken with a pointed nose,
warm, soft *******, sweet steam resting on the needles of time
caressed by two strands asleep in the stillness of white *******,
milk carved in palm lines,
hungry orphans,
beggars built in the breath of your chest, we will die
we will die, one day soon
and, you”ll come again with your forehead up, your swaying walk,
oh, your swaying walk, no eyes, no air
it will be easy to bite your lips
touch your hard beard
in a distant world where there are no storms
no thoughts
one day soon, one day
maybe

it's as light as snow, and the steep hill
when the sun rises must not move a finger,
obedient child, -
the earth wears its white feathery garment,
putrefied by tears
there is no need to raise  up my  eyelids, no need to  speak or be silent,  
when i listen like a newborn wrapped in diapers i let the snow cover my green
eyes,
when you say: not today. not tomorrow. i don't  have to cry,
i look at the world smiling: - what a miracle,  what a blessing,

i don't have to do anything of those things,
i don't  have to expect a breeze, be touched  on my hand by a ladybug,
and ”never ” and ”nothing” is so much lighter than the stone of an arrow,
except
we still dream in the eyes of forgotten children
among the flowers,
now when we are about to get older,
wiser, and
everything is sooo easy,
and it gets easier
and
easier,

razor touch
gillette mach3 built with maximum precision
steel on the beard,
the cheek that seeks the skill of the one who
wants to feel the heart in the palms,  
long black night
calling the stars
birds
to taste your color: - scar
leaking in his left eye, like  zoro
you do like to fight
while
she's a larva for you
soft beetle
wingless abdomen that emits light
to give birth to your flight