Dear friend,
I’ve lost my way going south…
trapped in a dream that is not really mine
building bricks to build up the Wall
people are wrong
tell me who you are,
I need music
my voice will it suffice?
when in the craving
I fill up the cases
and then fade in some way…
my fingers blue
my sight alright
are there any purple stars?
dancing
with
my
heart
there is not much light
on the other side
of the line I followed from the start;
Love –
how do you measure
how can one know
the steps you have taken
the strings you have severed
brought you any closer
or made you whole,
a simple choice
her hand is made of white noise…
Category Archives: Pansamente cu sare
Mr Wong and Miss Wright
I got shot in the dark
with the gun I used to break their hearts
shattered in a million pieces all I’ve left is broken wishes
missing form the greatest puzzle
the wrong answers to the right questions,
they will paint my face on the bigger picture
tell me stop
ask me be better
held on to the feelings my chest could not gather,
I have seen you naked but my skin was covered
taking in the space between us, the whole grew larger
nothing more to share but attaching distance
you call the rains but the soil is poison
and I want to grow and seed a forest, larger than the world…
Beautiful borders that we forgot to seal
turned from yellow flowers to red brick walls
and the song I used to play never called you anyway,
I gave her a name and she marked it down in stone
it did not change it did not even glow
acting in a story that we somehow stole
the rhyme is off
the tempo is cold
and I am freezing when we should be burning slow,
the nights are longer with the steps we take
what there is to do when there is nothing left to say
my heart belongs to me in the most profound of ways,
if this won’t kill us it is not a passage of any kind
for I can not see the future yet I am far from blind…
I am drinking red wine that turned into blood
metallic with a taste to cut out your tongue
it feels like the days I spelled your eyes wrong
and you gave me water that washed our souls,
Miss Wright is out of control
Mister Wong is ever so bold
tell me to stop
ask me be better
nothing left to do before I write this letter
something must change or it’s hog-killing weather
I can not go the same to the end of summer
it is in my bones that I seek an honest meaning
and if you ever try again tell me so I can take cover
love is a curse but it must not be made harder…
St John
I’ve left ashes on the counter as your image through the smoke
and the whisky bottle never empties in the shadow of our Lord
dance is twisted moving close
music falls like icy rains
steps are down and up they go
glasses sleeping on the floor
yet the rainbows lack to come…
I have seen her in the crowds young and never losing ground
with a storm front in the eyes and the thunder down her thighs
running faster than the thought
brings my heart beating delight
bruises on the southern peak
kissed my cheeks with burning hips
yet the colors have left home…
Then the water turned to wine just before the St John’s time
and the devil made me drink from this bottle for a while…
Sfârșitul
Sfârșitul e aproape
coloanele se înclină peste ceruri
umbra ta dispare în soarele ce naște
pașii în nisip sunt gânduri puse-n ghips
ochii se închid –
mătase se revarsă prin jaluzele trase
ape izvorăsc din piatră
orașul se transformă în stihie fără dogmă,
îngenuncheați primim chemare
rădăcini de sare celor spovediți în Mare
degetele rupte
mere de alamă
Edenul este o cursă cu suflete de sticlă
trandafiri din plastic
toamnă de pe pânze,
ceara ta fierbinte curge peste buze
fiecare carte răpește o himeră
cuvintele șuvoi,
ia-le înapoi,
eu doresc lumină –
sfârșitul e aproape
șoaptele sunt coapte
plouă peste trupuri cu baionete roase
din inimi nemișcate macii se înalță
dar orele, orele sunt moarte…
Friday in the Sun
Waking up a sunny Friday
last December on the last day
I drank coffee followed by red wine from a better time
and the hundred dreaming songs of dancing summer
put them on one by the other,
feeling small before you grow
no one shows you what is right nor they tell you what is wrong
and the shapes you learn to draw kissing edges on the floor,
was a painter dressed in coal
up until you brushed my soul…
Walking on a sunny Friday
from late morning to November
I built castles in the sand where to kiss and hold your hand
but we’ve never burned enough to turn dust to shining glass
and the ocean came upfront
washing out the fairy gold,
in the daylight magic paled being lost in the glitter’s mighty cost
and the stars we watched together never shone on heavy weather
only music did remain
lighting torches in the rain…
Wandering on roads this Friday
couldn’t pull into a driveway
the stone giant with a heart needs a spark to gain the light
but there’s nothing to be found on the bearing that he’s bound,
reading books with empty pages
didn’t teach to see the braces
and the walls he raised around from the surface to the Sun
took him more than just his time spent on hopes and silver line
and the question being asked
lost its purpose in the vast…
Leap of Fate
November’s gone, it’s been a while
and March may never come again,
it’s one step left to fill the distance
I wonder what it takes to fly and what it takes to fall,
toast and coffee in the morning
dining scarcely long past dusk
the perfect equation is what I’ve drawn on paper
life is square and love seems measured,
is this the leap one’s asked to take
when rains come cold in late December,
pouring wine and making pudding
all is white yet nothing to remember…
The Game (II)
Good morning, good night
this is how it passes by, my time,
I am selling stories, sweet little lies alright
it is getting old and easier, I’ve been told,
so I took a white empty card,
wrote down words and question marks
and played poker with the heart…
My house is built on wrong,
the sun eludes the backyard every time
in pitch black night there is no moon,
no windows, only bricks up to the clouds,
the postman never comes
carols are like apples when they fall,
and it’s frozen, raining cold…
Good night, sleep tight my love,
roll down dreams to keep them flowing,
pour it slowly and fill our glasses
naked water for the conscious drowning,
because noses can not smell beauty
hands can not touch without the skin
and eyes, eyes need light to see…
Biofizica
Gândurile mele s-au blocat –
un circuit sinaptic a căzut în reflecție la o intersecție neurală
și problematica dezbătută creează incertitudine,
picioarele sunt blocate între înainte și înapoi
peretele abdominal freamătă sub tensiune
iar brațele sunt ramuri cu degete încleștate în aer…
Din lobul frontal se scurge ca un pârâiaș, nimicul
alunecă peste coaste, ocolește rotula dreaptă
și hrănește o baltă rece și neagră cu gambe de cocostârc,
iar lumina rămâne suspendată la un picometru de retină
astfel încât percepția este acaparată de beznă
într-o singură secundă când existența devine un paradox…
Paris
I have been living in Paris since November 2017. At least if life in a small town north of Paris for almost a year counts in as well. Though it is not my first time in Paris. I have been here before. A few years ago, as an intern.
Stone-giant
Sixty steps, the stairway’s broken and you hear the stereo noises
on your knees you heal your bruises
and the raindrops start to roll down the forehead that is cold,
questions looking for their answers in a song that’s pretty dull
where Nottingham has roots in stories so it dreams itself alive
and its paths diverge in alleys that run farther from the Sun…
I have chosen, Ego sum, I was wrong,
perfect sense does not exist in a state of altered mist
it is pressure that transforms dirty coal into cliché shining bliss
– and not a kiss;
his ribs are cut from stone and so are all the looks he’s given
and the devil smiled and put a tingle on your lower Eastern lip…
Un Jurnal Neverosimil 