„I am human; nothing human is alien to me” – Terentius

“Hurt people hurt people.”
I heard this in a movie, a tad over a life ago
Remembered it just now, so lame, with this full moon
So poorly fitting into a nearsighted eye
Its cross-like spills, the horizontal one perfectly aligned
The vertical, always slightly slanted to the left
On the bottom, slightly longer
Slightly sad.

Oh, dear,
How many times you told me to give up melancholy
To crawl and cradle myself into the happy bent of bare instants
No past, no future?
Countless, I know.
No need to remind me
No need to pour the words again and again
No need to hyphenate your name to mine.
They’ll never make a whole.

I didn’t get it right away, you know
No punctuation
Which the adjective, which the verb
Only the universal noun, the people.
The mind then lingered, on its own
To grasp the trick, to come to peace with meaning
Gobbled it down before I could ignore it
And carry on… my bliss.

Lately, I filled my head with poetry
The kind of those regretful for not having done this or that
For getting old, for letting love slip by
Not biting into the velvety, ripe “peach” of life
Not risking an un-removable stain of fruit
Onto the collar of their immaculate shirts
Or a faint prickle on their once-plump lips.
But is it so?
Is it that they didn’t take a chance before their skin gave in
Or is it that the chance never came near ideal?

I know you’ll laugh
And “rest your case”
But I will tell you that I, too
Cringed at the lack of touch, and years subtly merged into decades
And irreversibility
And all that jazz
Yet I did take that “chance” although it pained.
You hurt
Hurt me
I did and do the same.

si nuca peretelui asta:

Anunțuri

indignarea culorilor

din varful unui pantof

amorf

spintec aerul caerul

gandului lanced

fuiorul molatec al unui frison electric

necontrolat eclectic

cuvintele se incaiera in cerul gurii

as vrea sa spun

furii

dar mandibula inclestata de susul ei

scrasneste

trosneste innebuneste si nimic

decat un icnet sterp de gat infundat

inundat

nu se aude

crude imi stau gandurile

faldurile fustei si ifosele

infatuarile

permutarile nesfarsite ale unei minti

necuminti

smintite de-a dreptul

aici

chiar aici

in causul acestui moment

am mai fost

m-am zgait in scursul hipnotic al nisipului

m-am panicat la ireversibilul gand al sfarsitului

si-am inghitit in sec

saliva chioara

amara de foame de dor

de insatietate

voluptate arabescoida

impletita silfida

catarata pe coapsa virila a altui gand obraznic

dintr-un cap

fara paznic

am coagulat sentiment

resentiment presentiment avertizment

fara folos

fara noima

fara de viata si moarte

coapte

se vor gandurile

si faldurile fustei incropite perfect

dintr-o tusa de arhitect

bezmetic

eretic

in unghiuri drepte inepte

in care ochii se sparg de chin

de lipsa de sfera efemera

de rotunjimea unui corp galactic

indraznit din intamplare

enigmatic

dintr-un timp pe care nu-l incapi cu mintea

cu gintea

de om simplu

cu puls si repuls

nascut crescut imbatranit

murind cu fiecare secunda inca un pic

minuscul crepuscul

smuls de reflectii simturi

smalturi sarite de pe vesela de gala

scoasa doar pentru musafiri

firi trairi

neobisnuite stalcite smucite

angoasa acestui gand pe care nu-l indraznesti singur

ti-l permit ti-l ghicesc

cand te ademnesc aici

te scornesc te iscodesc

rascolesc

nispul clepsiderei asezat cuminte

silentios simandicos

cu prestanta de stanza

desueta cocheta

dintr-un alt timp

de care tu si eu nu ne mai aducem aminte

cuvinte scenarii si datul in bobi

nimic nu-i mai real decat acest moment

incoerent

dar acest moment

a si trecut

s-a dus s-a scurs

pana ai citit un potential infinit s-a si implinit

impietrit intr-o memorie incerta

inerta

ca o floare presata intre filele unei carti de copii

cu litere mari si desene in culori odata vii

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