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



                               *                 *


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.




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




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



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