Pe campul asta de bataie n-a mai ramas nimic de pierdut nimic

In picioare mai ales nimic dedesupt fiecare

A sacrificat tot ce-a avut sau

Ce a crezut c-a avut durerile

S-au descojit una dupa alta si lepadat la rascruci noii

Veniti scormonesc in ele circumspecti de departe cu un bat lung cu

Care s-au jucat mai devreme in praful drumului din trecut un

Fosnest abia perceptibil ca de tafta cu iz de mucegai si fantasma un

Luciu ciudat staruie-n simturi pielea

Se strange mintea plonjeaza-n absurd


Pe campul asta de bataie n-a mai ramas nimic de pierdut albastrul

Cerului a cazut tot la pamant iar

Ei cred in angoasa artei ca intr-o limba de moarte ca

Intr-o chintesenta a firii ca

Intr-un fundament


Pe campul asta de bataie n-a mai ramas nimic de pierdut cautatura

In unghi obtuz are paloarea foilor de carti vechi cu

Colturile paginilor otravite de poftele lumesti savoarea

Traducerilor in numele unui suflet cu care ne-ntamplam amorfismul

Introspectiei crucificate majestuos pe logica zilelor ce ne tarasc dupa ele contrastul

Intre vitaminele cu care ne dregem pacatele si paliativele fara contur si esenta inunda

Masinatiunile unui creier amfibian mesterind

Senzatii de neinteles nu tocmai sau nu acum superstitia

Numarului par impar murmurat compulsiv pe pasul indarat spre

Un alt inceput





The Valley of Lilies

Curled at the foot of lunacy I question the veracity of reality
Out of whack chemistry aimless physics random biology mathematical progressions regressions lack of destiny
But if psychosis equals making of “it” what I please
Then you should carefully translate for me the consonants vowels irregularities of this language you taught me
And you should justify the arrogance you took in defining my senses
And you should not claim absolute truth into the absurd of this universe
Because I dread the possibility of it all being intrinsically resolute
Because I am so utterly vexed by what renders me alive
Because I indulge in my imperfections yours
In the remote prospect of reality being a dream of repressed memories of a perfect world
A fossilized expression of a collective being
Or perhaps a nonbeing force pulling a tad harder at the worn out seams of my existence

In these small hours of the night I sift my qualms through no rhyme or reason
Viscerally grasp that what I fear the most is losing my insanity
This endangered balance on the brink of an incomprehensible senseless abyss from which I bluntly afford to be who I am
This bent on what ifs that shamelessly pinches my adrenaline
This ground on which I stand aloof in the mist of it all be it what it may
Throwing another ranting fit of melancholy at the crossroads of your discrete emotions
When your sun rises or sets over a day that will be or has been one way or another
When you had other things to do think be a part of
Yet with a perfect albeit far fetched relation to me
The air I breathe the atoms I dislocate consume transform the genes I express
The space that doesn’t fold seamlessly over me as I am after all a blob in its fabric
Unlikely to be ignored because it exists within the tick-tock of the time both you and I share

And then
If my epidermis doesn’t quite separate me from you the valley of lilies the neighboring galaxy
Where does reality really fit in how does it play out beyond the threshold of confines
Could it be set in stone irrefutable immutable
Could it be more than a concept by which we live dream imagine question reason die
Plunge in the depths of misery ecstasy confusion certainty trite extraordinary idiosyncrasy madness

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