Twice a day they snap your fingers,
12 hours of the clock you touch with every hand,
the brow bone in which you camouflaged the burning
matter and from confetti – such as from snake’s venom – you extract the P.R. of rebirth,
the only death that’s more expensive than vitamin Copyright.
You’re looking for someone to
die with all age,
that would give him licence,
that would beatify him, along with the saints
that took with them
painkillers at the entrance to heaven.
Someone’s drewing his blackheads,
and so all of his death
and stays barefoot after the comma.
You’re looking for someone born
under a star, all wrapped up in golden pages,
where karates are priced as paper.
The mud, the mud in me loves you,
you’re the unsettled dust from an unenforced law.
Try to quit, the world told her
when she came here, try,
and they they all called her a lightning rod for sausages.
No one really loved her,
And they all played domino with her
lying that they’re writing prayers.
She stepped on the stone tiles as if mimicking them,
she boiled the delay between the skin and the suns
and like an egg shell, things
started to love her from dust.
She’d come to Bucharest planted, like a tree,
her mouth full of unlucky tickets.
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe,
Catch some buttons by the toe.
Make them brandy, make them button,
Drink their health and drink your sober
If they holler, let them go,
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
May it be now, may it be.
she sang on the streets, all knitted in peach skin
and gnawed on chewing gum or to prevent her from falling.
She chewed if often so she wouldn’t get trapped,
between the egg and the peach she planted the earth
and in the ground grew an earth tree
with earth berries that didn’t need watering
for they had water in them and they didn’t need light
for they had invented the lightbulbs.
This really erased God’s nerves,
this left and empty frigde,
in the nude with a collar, in the nude, ready to be taken out
and brought back home.
Nude, just like when prayers say prayers.