poems by Moldvai Barna


what a prologue seems like

is a canvas painted on the knife

who knows if it’s real or just a haze

inside are two false faces in the triangle phase

both veils fall once the trance is closed

and the real story can rise to be composed.


2016-2017 tumblr


before there was a window in front of me, behind my back

your gentle grace as you were caressing your face,

grew a stress only you can guess.


art and Godard sophisticated are.

glanced through the window, I saw only gibberish

you all are wonderful, the way her dress was so colorful.




last dance kyb

familiar and distant ambiguity screeching irritating noises drunk sailing between a tiny comfort cell reverbed shrieks everything is blinding grey homely fascist uniforms as accessory epileptic unifying hasty hypnotic dance tenor and baritone Division non-Order Suicide continuing teardrop Scarpa

poems by Moldvai Barna

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