I. Prologue

I keep laughing; once again
on the roof of the mushroom
where unbearable heat withers all color.
The cemetery snow lies unwalked upon,
all though many ghosts have yet to pass.
Where silence was before,
now, there is nothing;
without noise, I am scared
for I can't find myself.
The images are broken
where survivors should be.
Pieces lay scattered in dust.

II. Cold River Dead

Drowned; the stream of thought
runs without motion
into what was once named peace.
Only now it is blurry and messy
such that I can feel no more;
this page is blank.
I didn't call for you, still you
betrayed me.
I foresaw that you should die
in the Rapid River, smashed
against the rocks, like that
photograph of you. Can you still see it?
For all the words you strived to find
have long been lost in that moment;
lamentation is no tool in the killer's hands.
Only now I begin to see that which
was so clear. Can I take it back?
Can I take you back to that moment?
The king of mediocrity
killing his only muse.
Ruins of suicide poets
guard the River and all is cursed,
and this, in turn, is cursed as well.
The time is near when the return
to the fires will come and then…
the dead muse will give birth
one last time.

III. Furnace Reborn

Birth, as Death, holds a terrifying vengeance.
No crude cuts, no tests,
no mockery fittings, …,

only the first try out,
the most vindictive of all.
For there is no coming back
from this; no future self induced
delusions.
As Furnace is reborn
in the hills, the mountains,
in sacred concrete,
Hope & Grief cease to hold any meaning.
There is no end,
there was no beginning,
and Furnace never died,
yet, …, He is reborn.
And I am Furnace, and
all of you domesticated modern-day barbarians
are Him as well,
for He never died…
He never died!

IIII. Epilogue

The Holy Duality, always in perfect balance.
The dispute of the Empty over Nothing.
For I hear not the music but the
sound, decomposed and barren,
as from the beginning it was meant.
Alone in Perfect Space, perfect void of
Duality. Not knowing, not searching,
nor winning or loosing; still, forever
lost.
Contamination is a metaphor for Birth.
An universe away from thee;
Seek not and not find.
*
Write, with an empty mark.
Know, with an empty mind.
See, with an empty soul.
*
And where there was a River Cold
and where there is a Reborn Furnace
the Duality of Holy and of perfect form
always shall begin as always shall end,
in the never-ending, never-begun cycle of the
meta-form.
Be it Heaven,
or be it Underground,
is still a long way away from
Perfect Space.

@ Alex. Sigartău

In the death with no veil
do i remember my angels? they ask
although keep on killing each move with each move
my fear wrote words that death understood until sound is not heared
this town is not this town, can i twist it round the way it was

about retire and teachings, smoke is heard
kaos what road did i take in for a living?
the words of the blank history, same numbers and pearls take their resemblance
i do not know, and the not is a change that seats forever

my mistake awaits and i'm still ahead of it
question the contradiction that falls before you name it?

Ancient letters what i said compare the identical
the feets await coldness
turment, more dreams change more dreams say the channel
red cross strikes murder on the still
look behind, after, you and close the gates left

@ Alexandra Vatamanu

am I wrong, Lazarus?

I suppose they forgot to cut your throat
they were too busy making love
on the vernal ladder
they did it
the old fashioned way
"among the ruins
and the flowers"

she said it was ok
to fly like
a sparrow
he smiled and turned against
the dying willow

am I wrong… Lazarus?

schizoid dream

have you seen my earthen limb…
dead, before me like a crown ?

I see kings of clay with rabid eyes
manic preachers in disguise
I see the moon in darkened skies
I see thy tears, that gently rise
like newborn creatures of the night
and yes, I see the little child
playing in the candle light
I see angels by his side
and death in every color
and death in every shadow
and death in everything

smile, my mocking bird
smile, my mocking bird

knives are marching in

a painting (another way of keeping a journal)

the sparrow is blessed, says the quarantined priest, waiting for the moth
john doe is mummified and relieved, dancing on the severed wing of a nightingale
the painting is born in the palm of a maid, swirling like a toad, the paintbrush
collapses in an epileptic fit, hitting the ground
to the sound of horses pounding the sky
to the sound of midgets hung on rainbows
to the sound of unicorns and shadows
to the sound of crucified clowns and memorial winos
the bottle is as thin as a kiss, the silken glass bears the reminiscence of a
darkened piano
liquefied into a sequel
the dusk is soft and crippled by the summer rain
it will surely transform into a mirror
as all sunburned peepholes do, one after another in an endless row of garments
and columns
literally ripped apart by the shrewd Mediterranean storm, but intact in the end …
just like a cruel puppet
in a lethargic posture

Wild mood swings: 1996

Find myself in the same room
I really feel as 8 years ago
Find myself with the same... scar, lie, attempt, disease, curse, light, shadow, image, mirror, music, cigarette, spectre, failure, cure, wish, end, hell, cut, bridge, part, way, other, poetry, confusion, pretence, love, life, unreal, design, smile, hurt, blue, crow, wings, psychology, reverse, blood camel, sepia, myth, picture, feather, sky, loneliness, time, connection, darkness, rose, disconnection, complexion, dissection, graveyard, crash, me, hopelessness, crave, mother

Morbituary

I am a city of stone,
My blood is a river of sadness and solitude
Carrying all the nothings I hide inside
Into the rancid swamp called heart I'm said to possess,
Like a flower is nothing
While the factory of dust works ahead.

My brain is made of nitroglycerine
And my head of glass, so anyone can see
The lost soul haunting under my hair,
Yes... I love heavy metal,
Headbanging... unfelt desire,
So fragile... Did you get the metaphor?

My eyes have my mother's sadness buried into,
I feel them always so sick of view,
My hands still shiver, as of fear
Of the dark or of the fall,
My feet make cheap music when walking
While my heart... do I really have one?

My way was a burial into agony,
Senseless flight from life,
I was a sad jester with fake jokes,
I am a stiffy corpse still creeping ahead,
Cannot feel but pain, and whatever...
Ashes to ashes, dusk to dusk.

Another Me

I'm my own poet,
I'm my sole shadow,
I'm my only crime,
I'm haunting my way,
I'm killing my soul,
I'm denying myself.

My lost tomb is blue,
I'm stepping into
Each second comes through.
I won't attend my funeral,
Nor deny it lingering outside,
I won't change the waves
Leading my agonic dream,
I may feed my saucer
From my frozen liver.

I'm considering me killed myself.

I live as a paper's dream,
Preparing a poemless volume,
Tryin' to deny each hero
May turn my book from insanity...
So sick of me!!!
The memories are dry
As an empty cloud
Seen by the darkest sunshine ever tasted
By my stonehead and the red tulip nearby.

I'm so tired I can't even hate myself...

There is a God I don't have the talent to forget,
Too dreams to lie,
I wish I had a green dog
And I remained blue-eyed and white-haired
Like while my oldest me once
Upon a time.
There was a story noone ever told,
Not even knew, that's its secret,
So there is no trace to follow,
No grace to charm other's words
And what's beyond.

The God I started to doodle about,
Was it happy when burying me into this cavernish coffin

Called me?
I cried for my first grave,
But in vain... as always.
I'm the worst joke he ever played anyone,
One can hear only one laughter: mine,
When reminding it;
Haunted by its angels
I need a place to play my loneliness
Outside any shadow,
So I yell:
Here I am and I can't lose my mind!

@ Sorin-Mihai Grad

Path in Two

A path has been so many ways
Up on hills and down on valleys
Depressed at crossroads and confused at forks
My path is knowing but the traveler spent

There are so many paths in all directions
Some are wise and some are blind
Sometimes they cross or follow from behind
But seldom do they overlap and the traveler rejoice

The rule is that the traveler always walks alone
And dreams of merging paths or at least a crossroad
But these do often not occur
And when they do, they never seem to last

Most surprising the travelers are optimists for they keep on walking
Not knowing where they go
Or when or whether their paths will overlap
As sad, alone, optimists we keep on wondering.

Depressive Chain

I am together and wait into my cell
The day I'll see the light again
The moment I'll loose my chains
The day I'll fall into my grave

Today I've lost my shadow
It ran into the light
Together with my soul it fled
Now on a beautiful tree it's sealed

Sister will you grab my hand
Reach inside into the cell
Stick your hand within the bars
Stay with me lost, watch the rusty stars

The stench of urine on the wall
The taste of putrefaction on the floor
The rot and darkness I am in
Makes me sick up to my blood and veins

I'm feeling dizzy and I want to fall
I've walked this room for much to more
I know it all, it's every scar;
And I'm all alone, alone by far...

Beneath

Somewhere in the night
I see myself
Standing on a hill
Watching the skies cry

In a second, and a lifetime
The clouds open
Making way for the stars
Letting them join, in one

Descending and falling
Gently touching the ground
Into the darkness of the graveyard
And calling for my hand, for me

Where life is forgotten
Where nothing is everything
Where no one makes the distance
And where God makes no difference

In the place where love is pure
And never forgotten
Where hate is lost
Buried, beneath the stones

This is where she's waiting
For the making of a dream
To hold me at her breast
And ask for forgiveness

Kiss me on the place
Where the tears fall
And let your life drip into mine
Into the ground and the stars

Let me fall asleep
Let me carry on my cross
To fade in the night
To be one, with life itself

To watch the world
From a white cloud
To sit and drown
In your love, my love.

Hard, with white-clean teeth
Detailed wisdom, impact of the mind
On it's own spirit of rebellion...
Silence is enough.

Seen your picture, painted in blue and grey
Start again, and faint for a moment
Just the same fear, same taste of today
Slow motion towards a shadowy atonement.

And again, on waves of desolation
A myriad of lost dreams, in slow rotation
The silhouette of future proof, future isolation
I see through it, the wake of souls, silent ovation.

one by one they fall;
i'm so used to this,
something is scratching
making a noise, of
pure forgiveness;
cry of night-born babies
eyes on the burning floor
thoughts will be
with you, between cold walls,
until
there is
no illusion

i meditate... i try
at least, the last pill,
(your forgiveness),
piercing through worlds of
dream and long ago.

internal darkness, it screams
i place my head
on rain-wet ground

and hope this could last
forever...