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HAPPINESS OF BEING PLUNDERED HIDDEN DEATH, HIDDEN ESCAPE
everyday up and down their craters people trapped in stagnant utterance in the icy habitat of mind pollution celluloid asps pour the crime meal into formulas subliminal erasers and bloating papers hide in the daily coffee grounds absorbing aphasic people sprawling in the news in the pathetic stories and Sunday ashes cohorts of immature screens pierce the eye and the memory in daily coffee grounds in comfortable rooms where is little worry of predation camouflaged in their own fat and venom gland Eremias lugubris stiff-legged mimicking a beetle their soul preserved in canned music
I can see all this carnal vortex in crystal blisters drilling the simoom
I can see the phantom trains in all directions inside the electronic memory rushing towards a destination with no stations
grooves of sadness holes of hopelessness incendiary masks withering words
I can see all these people in a crystal ball crawling up the trees invented by ash foraging on nothingness
I can see dying constellations through the keyhole of the century
I can see the phantom immersions in all directions inside the memory of an electron rushing towards a destination with no stops
grooves of sadness
auras of desperation
incendiary masks
words on a broken ear drum
the cipher is fading away the sentiments in the cathode tubes caress black potential drops
feelings and words disappear into the narcotizing box gliding after other words and feelings away from the generating source everyday up and down their brain craters people trapped in rusty joints in the mind pollution of an icy habitat in the celluloid asps inside the bleeding meal beyond the crime formulae
the blotting paper in the daily coffee grounds absorbs people from their insomnia from their memory from the pathetic stories and Sunday moving sands into the history tiny piece of the news into their happiness of being robbed
abandoning themselves to the obscure side-lamps cohorts of splinters tear the eye
I can see the void moon landing through the key-hole
hidden death hidden escape I am not the same I am not infinite transformation of my blood into apocalyptic images into stars’ residue into angels baptized in locomotive steam the machine inside memory only drawers millions violated alembic in obscure corners void depots deserted airdromes in the bronze viscera hawks bloom in the sunny death as carnivore flowers magnets facing each other as two strangers cranial collapse and the brain is igniting the burn cicatrized under the rubble of trumpets
lazy flower in its rotten sphere lethargic conventions assail the stained-glass of a thistle
I was born in the era of cannibal robots powdered with stellar dejection and gasoline monsters with ball dresses in a global electronic psychology crawling through the daily coffee grounds memory
the electric extension of nervous system erases the melilot of Middle Ages the Hellenism of Antiquity the silica loneliness of primitive époque the drop of the Big Bang’s DNA the electronic nomadism burns the rustle the gentle breeze the round epidermis of the mollusk invading the self by agrarian gyrations while the self is leaking outside into a cyclotron spin where one opens the door to volcanoes and conditional reflexes borrows and changes the selves like vaccinated dolls
fragments spectra nails just stretch out your hand pounded glass filings tentacles and antennas one takes from eruptions from the network the lutes invade the intestines of a diode one gets fed with scale models and roller coasters with sulfuric dithyrambs and neutronic dry wind one stands without any tympanic trembling in ethereal dominions where once one was lying in the neurons’ delta engulfed by fantasy and furnaces’ seed engraving sibylline auras into icy slopes of mind one inseparable body emblems-lutes-seals ruptured from the very flesh of thinking archipelagos of visions fire in ruin over the boiling heart wrapped in the skin of return
one doesn’t need to learn now and obliterates the morning stars with one’s gestures nomad among fragments subject to unified control in catastrophic dragon-fly alliances groping in a visceral gallant cohabitation a noble slit for the hidden death there’s a hidden escape
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Death can be impure, too. His death was not his own; it was diverted, from an indefinable time, through a crystal trap, to his spectrum; death can be imperfect, too. His bodily spectrum changed itself, like a wavelength, into a crystal trap, becoming the mirror in which he could watch his own birth, his own father's birth in him and from him, his mother running after his return in the womb of a sentence, in the shivers of a painting, in the alchemy of a chant, running after his archetypal return.
PALIMPSEST.net pregnant circles in my heart through the center of one I am streaming down the circumference of a centrifugal leaking centrifugal escape into the centripetal tearing of my heart illusions and mutilated monsters were hanging out in towers clung together in spheres torn between life and death between your marks in the sand and the bird’s eye between fabrication and the stretched wing between hunger and core on each side of the ancient clocks between happenings and holiness stillness and chaos labyrinth returned into itself strained like a bow stretched like a circle illusions of vastness and plenitude black holes and dilution of thoughts in the palpable endlessness as a cascade of existences some dreamt by others some eaten by others restless lock-ups labyrinth blooming in my life old painting and ashes I bore testimony about you but I was not in you I am waiting for Time to return in the thoughts’ void in which It was born in the labyrinth’s core the mirror is walled in by world’s multiplied images by the word’s infinite faces trembling as a tear through which the dead ones the endless row of numbers are passing are all the Lord’s body fire crosses tearing up the apocalypse returning into the unique wood from which they have departed
PALIMPSEST after all time has elapsed my memories are of all men and all men’s memories are of God in the beginning was the unbeing whose steps were the undone the steps of which were the firmness the steps of the firmness were the unformed whose steps were the bone the steps of the bone were submission and the steps of submission were flesh the steps of the flesh were the honeycombs of sight and hearing and the unripe grapes of smell and taste the steps of which were sentiments whose steps are thoughts and the steps of thought are the mirror of thoughts the steps of the thought’s mirror are talking thoughts whose steps are the mixture the flaring and the steps of the flaring are the void whose steps are the becoming the becoming holds in it the being as the fire holds the burning as the burning holds the fire the becoming holds in it being the steps of being are the becoming and the flaring the steps of flaring are the void and the flaring and the void are the mixture of a thought the talking thoughts are the mirror of thoughts the steps of sentiments are thoughts and the steps of thought are sentiments the flesh of the sentiments and thoughts are smell and taste sight and hearing smell and taste sight and hearing are the unripe grapes and honeycombs of the flesh flesh is submission the steps of submission were the bone and the steps of the bone were made of hardness its steps were the unformed whose steps are the amorphous which descends into the undone in the beginning was the unbeing after all the time has elapsed
Poems by Liviu Georgescu |