o (dh)armă albă

there is a warm gaping distance between me and what I feel.

no wonder
I got to wonder
whether you're
really
such a wonder.
now,
I wander.

most certainly so,
I am a relativist.
that, of course, is a good thing,
but then again, it's also bad.

an anticipation of an emancipation of the present.
a full night awaiting to be emptied with voids.

sadly, people are white noise that I tune my ears to.

our consciousnesses are animated&contaminated.

-aberații produse în portbagaj, prea târziu să-ți pese, prea devreme să dormi, abundențe de nimicuri.

I have a bunch of reasons, all adding up to nothing

nopțile
  plantele de lângă picioare
  cresc din mine.
diminețile
  mă trezesc extenuat
  dar zâmbesc
zâmbetul
  îmi e o revoltă tristă
  împotriva unor adânci revolte triste
corpul meu e sol ademenitor vânătăilor, cearcănelor și feluritor pofte sisifiene

fugiti amarati nemilosi in infometarea noastra
stele sub sori, curand vom incepe sa ne rugam
constipat mintal
ganduri pitigaiate de neandertal
cutite tocite
singurele arme albe-mi sunt oasele, impotriva mea.
eu nu-mi sunt pe potriva

imi pun frana la emotii               mi se spune
sunt frana                        realizez                              cu intarziere
 undeva e o lume in care tu ai radacini in tine
 the crowd is not impressed
lick your wounds happily but keep sadness at hand|in the freezer icy chicken legs pizzas my anchoring in the present | streams of habits run by you run you down
lungs filling stones eroded to riverbeds
throwing fake punches punching the clock every morning
this is no poetry at all this was chimney lungs
treci pe autopilot si scheme prostesc de grandioase se ridica la suprafata iau fata si apoi iti sar in fata
chances keep squirting out of toothpaste tubes and drop in the sink
this age of abundance welcomes our dance of nothingness
tentative de a de a de altceva
do trust falls with yourself, see what happens

1, calmly demonic clouds turtle across the sky |actually| across my window
oftentimes I am also clouded
the eye of the storm   blind to what is around
2, wonderful cloudy beasts hang in the blue
grazing/feasting lazily

last night bukowski cried me all over
to some i wrote quite drunkenly
to some i wrote fairly soberly drunk
to myself so wasted that i could not write

in the afternoon morning
                       [eyes bulging with drunkenness]
I am washing the paint brush
recollecting arranging and aligning my teeth

daca esti o fantana
cate monede poti baga in tine pt noroc?
si cat noroi poti curata din tine?
si pana la urma
esti potabil?