Dlyrical

‘Follow me, follow me now, come after me, look, there are the dry footstep marks among the poppies… follow me, you fit in the footsteps, let them take you…’ ‘And where will I get?’ ‘Don’t ask that… don’t you know me?’ ‘I need to have a clear picture.’ ‘Oh, silly girl, just let the footsteps take you, feel them beneath your soles, and look around, look around, the picture will change…’ ‘I’m afraid to look around. I might slip. The soil’s not that dry…’ ‘Hey, look, there’s a bird in the sky… Don’t you wanna fly that

Aud totul în mine, căi ferate ce duc de aici spre umbre violet, vagoane puse contra şinelor, zbătându-se să se rupă de metal, să-l ascută şi să ia din el viteza, să se pună din mers contra scânteilor, să fugă, să ducă cu ele suflete de oameni îngrămădite de frică de toamnă, de frică de apă împânzită cu frunze pierdute scăpate din foc... simt mersul sacadat al trenulului, îl simt sub piele, mersul ăsta de tren vechi, comunist, ce-i spune şi sângelui cum să curgă în v

The belt In half paralysis of senses I look at the belt you gave me To tie an instant makeshift… Somewhere, on its inner skin The belt still keeps a guy’s smell, Your smell… A belt… A circle drawn with compasses... A makeshift circle you drew: This is to be done, This is not to be done… To smell a belt, This is not to be done. But somewhere, on its inner skin It keeps your smell Alive…

Flows and fluids Cross my hands when I think of you. The channels Indians speak of The lines Buddhists call mantras They gather together To celebrate the emotion of you. My eardrums are stretched like Veal skin perceiving the light Cruel touches of a weirdo singer. I crouch like a girl Expecting to have a tattoo Needle by needle pricking And leaving their soft subterfuge Of  blood. My soles would like to retreat To their cage, like a snail, To leave no trace To run away Reversely To their womb And walk no more. My neck is lime-like It feels the temptation Of crumbling, like white powder Non sustaining: It doesn't