Exercise of survival
trilingual text: english, italian and romanian
I’m a train toward nowhere, from his window the trees run in circles…
The sky is cellophane; people grow fresh loaves for Death…
Something vertical… cuts me and splits me, the centrifuge of the dial squeeze the butter from the fixed hours.
Somewhere a vulture looks at me sideways …the waters applaud the spectacle of the salt
The fire goes away within him lost
For what I have come so late, when nothing is more alive that spasm of
a leaf detached from me, broken from the train on the glass tracks?
The Earth, asphyxiated in a bag from a dime, groaning muffled my name…
Only Death chew bored loafs and spin whirligig the batty dial.
This confusion of the words swirl absorbs me and nowhere begins and ends here.
My years big, my year’s small, twisted trees…
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