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imaginea utilizatorului Virgil

The knife and the rope

.

Ideas are the most powerful and horrible chains.
But things can be beautiful without purpose.
Mind can drip as a leaking pipe.
Don’t fool yourself into drinking too much from it.
Death is like when you are perfectly still.
But what if your mind moves?
Sometimes you need to be able to give up everything
only to keep one thing, any thing.
How do you know if 1, 2, 3 means going up or going down?
You don’t.
We always are a bit afraid of beauty; we feel vulnerable.

imaginea utilizatorului marlena

Rétine continuo

rétine continuo
le film résorbé en lui-même
passent
rumeurs et remous sur la rétine
tapissée de contours évanescents

charriées
les alluvions du vu du vécu
résonances ancrées dans l'effacé

devant l'effacement de l'image
de maintenant à maintenant
la vue plane, erre, voltige
s'éteignant

imaginea utilizatorului Trinity

'post-me' poem

(experimental poem)

'post-me' poem
poems with you start like the breeze on wild shores
there's salt in each verse and their words taste
like lips smeared in chocolate
before breakfast

poems without you are houses
ripped off at night by thieves
they are the empty souls untouched
by God
tombstones forgotten in winter

*
some poems are poor and some
are rich
some open the door some close it
some are bonnie and clyde
some jane and john doe
and some don't even rhyme

imaginea utilizatorului navigare

Grazie a te!

Grazie a te!

Ho bisogno di tanto, tanto amore
per spegnere la fiaccola olimpica
del mio desiderio
che brucia dentro di me.

Ridammi il soffio
con il tuo respiro.
Magnifico ponte
che ci lega.

Con il tuo sguardo
che mi penetra fino in fondo
dandomi lo stimolo
di sognare.

Slegami le ali
e io ti porterò in alto
accanto a me
a vedere le stelle.

Grazie a te
il momento piàcevole

imaginea utilizatorului Virgil

unmistakable beauty

...

you’ll never understand me
o my friend
as my dog will never understand me
I was the steel child of my communist age
hard and beaten as a rock
deep and quiet
as a smoke cloud in the winter I was
fear my perfect toy
thousands worlds molded out of it
the joy of invisible theatre
the music of silence
words that nobody can remember today
spoken with courage and sorrow

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