Jurnalul meu

Autoportret cu berze


Ferit de ger Un vrej de g$ndcu papionm@ strive}te de cer umblasem ab@tutcu desag@ dungat@de om stingher ploaia tihnit@din clei de oasemi-a crescut aripi de ^nger a}teptasem inertpe plu} de u}io via]@ de echer schele de icoane^nfloresc ^n uleipicur$nd polen efemer m$zga rutineipe pantofi Gubans-a pierdut ^n z$mbet de jongler fereastra smerit@cu vi]@-de-vie }i mierl@m-a ferit de ger…  Frostsafe The stalk of a thoughtwearing a papillonis crushing me against the sky I've been wandering downcastmy striped bagborrowed from a solitary guy the leisurely rain drippingbone glue has grownme angel wings to fly I've been inertly waitingat plush-upholstered doorsfor a set square life to try scaffolds of sacred iconsare blossoming in the oil droppingephemeral pollen from on high the slime of routineon my Guban shoeshas vanished into a juggler's smile my pious windowall in grapevine and blackbirdshas saved me from the frost's cry…   Omul din cuv$nt Omul cu bilet de autobuzs-a uitat la minecu privirea216. Omul de peste drummi-a vorbitcu silabede peste drum. Omul din gr@din@mi-a retezat zarz@rulcu un s$mburef@r@ miez. Omul din clepsidr@s-a scuzat elegantcu secundape care mi-a furat-o. Omul din sufleta plecat ^ntr-un dreptunghiha}urat^n dungile t@cerii. Omul din ommi-a luat propozi]iilecuv$nt cu cuv$nt}i le-a mutat pe alt prag. Omul din cuv$nt^mi poart@ g$ndulcu o hologram@din ochi c@tre inim@. Omul de pe crucem@ prive}te ^n inim@cu o vocede spini.    The Man Within the Word The man holding a bus tickethas looked through meburied in oblivion no. 216. The man across the wayhas thrown at mesyllablesfrom across the way. The man in the gardenhas severed my apricot treewith a stonebereft of its kernel. The man within the clepsydrahas courteously apologisedfor the secondhe has stolen from me.                               The man within my soulhas departed in a rectanglepatterned with the hatchingsof silence. The man within the manhas seized my sentencesword for wordmoving them onto another threshold. The man within the wordis guiding my thoughtswith a hologramfrom my eyes into my heart. The man on the Crossis looking into my heartwith a voiceof thorns.   %ntre %ntre canaturile u}iisimt cum dreapta devine st$ng@,u}@ n@t$ng@, a}ezat@ la poalele crucii. %ntre sear@ }i diminea]@ascult cum g$ndurile pier, num@rate pe un ceas de fier            cu vise trasate-n rotring de cea]@. %ntre suflet }i autobuzul zileise }lefuie}te piatra de m$ine, decor de S@p$n]@ cu vin }i p$ine,pe-asfalt tricotat de talpa }enilei. %ntre p$ndar }i prad@perechea de-ochelari face-alergie,schimb gloan]e de lentile – o mie –,privirea de-azur st@ s@ cad@. %ntre u}@ }i dreapta cruciiochii mai fur@ din Vorone]ul milei,pietrarul ciople}te ^nc@ portretul zilei,iar colbul ^}i urc@-n spiral@ cl@bucii. Firul aortei,bujorul de p$ine,vocala din g$nd,focarul lentilei,cuiul de cruce –totul se duce 


 In Between


Between the doorjambsI sense right becomes left,what a silly theft,gate slamming against battering rams. Between twilight and morningI hear thoughts perish,beaten by an iron clock in rapid vanish,counting dreams drafted with foggy rotring.


Between the day’s bus and the soul’s racks

the stone sharpens for tomorrow,S@p$n]a graveyard, bread, wine, no sorrow,on asphalt knitted by catterpillar tracks. Between spy and preyspectacles trigger atopic allergy,lenses fire one thousand bullets – dichotomy –,the azure look is about to decay. Between door and cross, on the right,eyes once more steal from Vorone] blue mercy,the stonemason still carves the day’s effigy,while dusty foam puffs spirals into the height. The aorta arch,the peony bread,the mind’s vowels,the lens focus,the cross nail –everythingpassesaway     



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