“Birds are dots to help you read the sky”
you used to say
dressed in that perfectly worn out suit
“Sometimes the story makes no sense.
The wind blows all the birds away, like now,
and fear begins to taste
like thousands bleeding impala
under your skin

“The devils ceased fire indeed.” I used to answer
bent over myself
in that perfectly sorrowful question mark
I died as gracefully as autumn does,
on the edge of those last words I said to you.


the sleep of god


today i saw god going to sleep
his little hand threw a paper bag into the waste-basket
there was so much beauty around
birds purling the colours of the trees above the
grass dancing slowly with the wind cuddled up to the
light playing with time from one corner of the garden to the other
he missed his blow
from a bench, an army of words, like blue devils, raged at him
the garden was loud of the sound of his smile
melting down

their fragile magical dance


it was a hot summer night
you were sitting there with the moon sweating on your right shoulder
blue dead words all around you
i could hear the beatings of your heart
from the other corner of the room
like footprints in the sand of silence
that endless silence
like a warm womb
where we would have played the game of love
with long phosphorescent fingers
on that hot summer night
at the end of our shadows

to the one who never was


she walked the red fields of his lips
with the innocence of a letter that discovers its meaning
in the arms of a word
a sweet whispered word
she knew before birth
lost at dawn into the hot core of a story
found at night into the silence of the sky

she knitted long transparent dresses
inside the warm room of his eyes
for the time when he would take her inside of herself
so deeply
so gently
that only the folds of illusion would be heard
tearing to shreads

roudabout way

img_9840through the sharp eye of suffering
everything looks clear now
her white dress with golden flowers on the hem
matching his bright white shirt with a red trembling heart behind
the fabric of his life
and a voice asking them loud
“do you promise to forget who the other really is
soon after the skin of your sweet memories will be
peeled off your thoughts
and wolves will be hawling in your veines?
do you promise to beg from the other the illusion of love
so that your inner hole will look fancy for a little while
whereas wounded violins will cry on the edge of your blood?
do you promise to take the fresh breeze of the other
and box it up in a role
so that you will have it for life
until your senses will be ripped to shreads
and loneliness will kiss both of you good night?”
if so, you are declared strangers for life
and we’ll visit you from time to time
with baked cakes
and faked laughters in our hands

for those of you who can’t stop crying
there is a bright room to the left
where you can marry yourself
for better or worse
’till nothing will tear you apart from yourself in the other



I was lying in the bathtub
thoughts came with you hanging on their edges
they smelled like frozen grass
I took them with my tongue
and put them between my legs
it was then I knew you had saved me from all the things
that were never here
it was then I found out you had killed me
for the blood inside my words was lying
in the bathtub



stăteam șoptită pe umerii lui dumnezeu
perpendicular pe frica lui
ca o cruce
eram tânără ca o mângâiere
bătrână ca o vorbă
stăteam rostită pe umerii lui dumnezeu
și-i iertam păcatele toate