when you do what you do
inside you it’s a who
reaching out black tree branches
thru your lungs and your eyes
in a white sterling darkness
neither dead nor alive
twisting morrow and bone
like a screw
when you do what you do
on her back spreading legs
raping death stilling breath
you become almost true
to the old silent ghost
open wings without feathers
nightingale in a worm
knocks at my thought
from the thought of the ocean
a paddle
lost by a boat in a memory wave
like a submerged rock surrounded by walls
where from a whimper departs
silences go out to greet him in the evening
witnesses being only the mornings
lost through ports
no one hears his grief
tuck to his chest like a poniard
ascultând crisparea rădăcinilor, j'écoute la crispation des racines, escucho la crispación de las ra
לא
מקשיבה
לצלילים
מקשיבה
לתהלוכת
האלם של
התהודה
בצעקה
המומה
המתפשטת
לכל פינה.
מקשיבה
למרחק
מקשיבה
להתכווצות
השורשים
שלא יצמחו
רחוק יותר
מעצמם
ascultând dar
nu
sunetele
ascultând
trecerea insonoră
în strigătul surd
peste tot prezent
ascultând distanța
ascult
crisparea rădăcinilor
care nu vor fi trăit
mai departe de ele însele
ascultând
ca și
privind
for better for worse
the club of Christian happiness is now open
patients are granted a place in heaven
dead or alive
the pharmacies are closed
doctors grope their nurses in utility rooms
and paramedics race each other on the motorways
no tires spared
no lives to spare
the morphine of happilyeverafter has cured
all dead men walking
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