![\"savupopa\"](\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/savupopa.jpg\")
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***
\nDoar trei patru copaci,
\nR\u0103sfira\u0163i \u00eencolo, \u00eencoace,
\nUndeva \u00een margine, spre ie\u015fire,
\nAcea cas\u0103 p\u0103r\u0103sit\u0103,
\nIntram \u00een ea, ne jucam \u015fotronul,
\nPodelele, calde \u00eenc\u0103,
\nPrecum o t\u00e2mpl\u0103 dup\u0103 lovitur\u0103,
\nSeara, aprindeam chibrituri,
\n\u00cen jurul lor, aerul tremura,
\nSpuneai c\u0103 acest spa\u0163iu
\nNu exist\u0103 dec\u00e2t
\nPe un film foto
\nPe care \u00eel arunci
\n\u00cen ap\u0103,
\nA\u015ftept\u00e2nd
\nCa totul de pe el,
\nS\u0103 fie \u015fters
\nC\u00e2t mai bine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***(Ocna City)
\nDeasupra lacurilor, o cea\u021b\u0103 s\u0103rat\u0103 cu miros de f\u00e2n \u0219i pe\u0219te \/\u00eenaintea orelor dimine\u021bii \/se stingea ultimul cositor\/ urc pe c\u00e2mp \/\u00een urma mea, un om \u0219i calul s\u0103u tr\u0103g\u00e2nd plugul \/soarele \u00eentre dealuri, un g\u0103lbenu\u0219 intr\u00e2nd \u00een \u021b\u0103r\u00e2n\u0103. \/ne apuc\u0103m de arat \/g\u0103sesc un os\/vreo urm\u0103 de cimitir antic\/ simt cum p\u0103m\u00e2ntul vibreaz\u0103\/Vor erupe vulcanii noroio\u0219i \/pe vremuri, se spunea c\u0103 Ocna st\u0103 pe un imens mu\u0219uroi de piatr\u0103 \u0219i sare uscat\u0103\/Nop\u0163ile, c\u00e2rti\u021be imense se zv\u00e2rcolesc \u00een interior \u00een lupta lor cu lighioane apocaliptice, linc\u0219i de n\u0103mol. \/Nu am \u00eent\u00e2lnit niciun joc al ielelor\/ pe unde au trecut, \/e strigoi\u021ba acum,locul de joac\u0103 al strigoilor b\u0103tr\u00e2ni \u0219i anonimi \/acolo am \u00eengropat \u00eempreun\u0103 cu un amic, mici fiind, \/clasoare de timbre \u0219i brevetul de partid al unui vecin disp\u0103rut.
\n\u00eeng\u00e2ndurat, trec cu omul \u0219i plugul mai departe\/semin\u021be puse printre bulg\u0103ri de p\u0103m\u00e2nt, furnici \u0219i oase pulverizate\/Peste Ocna se las\u0103 o ploaie cu paie de f\u00e2n \u0219i flori de c\u00e2mp \/cred c\u0103 a\u0219 g\u0103si locul \u00een strigoi\u021b\u0103, unde planta\u021biile de c\u00e2nep\u0103 fac valuri ca barba nepiept\u0103nat\u0103 a unui str\u0103mo\u0219 de al meu.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***
\nSub pielea mea apar noi organe \/
\nAud prin mai multe sim\u021buri \/
\nV\u0103d mai bine c\u00e2nd irisul, corneea ard ca ni\u0219te meteori\u021bi care se consum\u0103 \u00eenainte de a ajunge la sol.\/
\n\u0218irul stricat al furnicilor sem\u0103n\u0103 cu o ven\u0103 spart\u0103, \u00ee\u021bi sim\u021bi s\u00e2ngele \u00eempr\u0103\u0219tiat \u00een interior.\/
\n\u00cemi a\u015fteptam geam\u0103nul s\u0103 vin\u0103 s\u0103 vad\u0103 ce mai fac, cum mai e, ce se mai \u00eent\u00e2mpl\u0103 \u00een galaxia lui.\/
\nG\u00e2ndurile \u00eemi vin cu viteza desprinderii unei buc\u0103\u021bi din zidul \u00een preajma c\u0103ruia am crescut. \/
\n\u00cempreun\u0103 cu aceste furnici.
\nNimic nou deasupra soarelui.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***
\n\u00cen mijlocul unui lac s\u0103rat, nimeni altcineva \u00een jurul t\u0103u, suprafa\u0163a lui \u00eentins\u0103 mult, \u00eenceput de dup\u0103-amiaz\u0103, cerul apare printre nori ca o linie de vopsea ro\u015fie pe un spa\u0163iu complet alb, buruienile \u00ee\u015fi arat\u0103 col\u0163ii printre culorile unor flori saline, nisipul uscat, precum aerul de amenzie dintr-un \u00eentreg azil de b\u0103tr\u00e2ni, senza\u0163ia unor oase care nu au apar\u0163inut niciunui corp,
\n\u00cen aer, umezeala centralei nucleare \u00eenainte de explozie.<\/p>\n
Scufundarea \u00een ap\u0103,
\nNicio vietate,
\nDoar tu, prins, strivit \u00een pumni de sare, viermi\u015forii salini ca ni\u015fte \u015ferpi minusculi
\nDevor\u00e2ndu-\u0163i pielea, te cuprinde somnolen\u0163a, stropi lichizi, grei, o risipire neagr\u0103
\nA polenului din floare,
\n\u00ce\u0163i mai r\u0103m\u00e2ne doar un sur\u00e2s
\ns\u0103rat<\/p>\n
Adev\u0103rat\u0103 singur\u0103tate<\/p>\n
\n***
\nSenza\u0163iile mi se amestec\u0103 uneori
\nPrecum torni
\nO lingur\u0103 de ulei \u00eencins
\n\/Peste apa st\u0103tut\u0103,\/
\nStarea de grea\u0163\u0103 la vederea
\nP\u0103trunderii uleiului,<\/p>\n
Imaginea devine confuz\u0103,
\nCea mai senin\u0103 parte de cer acoperit\u0103 de un nor ca o bucat\u0103 de cenu\u015f\u0103 \u00eent\u0103rit\u0103 pe
\nGr\u0103tarul crematoriului,
\n\u00centreruperea undelor radio,\/ feti\u0163a aceea din videoclipurile Siei
\nFace slalom printre g\u00e2ndurile albe \u015fi cele negre\/<\/p>\n
Pe balcon, te \u00eentrebi dup\u0103 c\u00e2te str\u0103zi se ascunde adev\u0103ratul ora\u0219,
\nMiros de fulger \u00eent\u00e2rziat,
\nAerul f\u0103r\u0103 nicio culoare,<\/p>\n
Oglinda aburit\u0103, caloriferul c\u0103ldu\u0163, poza cu noi \u00eentr-un suport de cr\u0103ciun<\/p>\n
Grea\u0163a e atunci
\n\u00een urechi, zgomotul
\nUnor insecte strivite \u00eentre tine \u015fi cel\u0103lat corp.<\/p>\n
\n***
\n\u00cenainte de a scrie poezie,
\nSimt nevoia s\u0103 \u00eemi imaginez
\nPlaneta Pluto venind cel mai aproape de soare,
\nTrec\u00e2nd prin el ca prin perdeaua de cea\u021b\u0103
\nUscat\u0103.
\nPentru flori,
\nR\u0103d\u0103cinile s\u0103 fie palme,
\nle \u021bin at\u00e2t de str\u00e2ns,
\n\u00cenc\u00e2t tulpinilor le ies spinii.
\nCelui mai autentic filde\u0219 din lume,
\nS\u0103 i se descopere o parte putrezit\u0103
\nDe la \u00eenceput.
\nPe suprafa\u021ba ghe\u021barilor islandezi,
\nCerul s\u0103 se topeasc\u0103.
\n\u00centre cele dou\u0103 r\u0103zboaie mondiale,
\nS\u0103 fie distan\u021ba dintre cel mai s\u00e2ngeros lag\u0103r din vest \u0219i prima pu\u0219c\u0103 \u021binut\u0103
\n\u00cen m\u00e2ini de viitorul soldat s\u00e2ngeros.
\n\u00centre anii 2017 \u0219i 3017,
\nAceast\u0103 noapte a mea de insomnie.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***
\nS\u00e2ngele meu are netezimea, lucirea\/
\nLucr\u0103rii un sculptor care \/<\/p>\n
\/A deprins arta\u00a0\u015flefuirii\/<\/p>\n
\/La s\u00e2nge.\/<\/p>\n
Creierul meu,\/
\nO camer\u0103 f\u0103r\u0103 pere\u0163i, tavan, podea,\/
\n\u00cenr\u0103d\u0103cinat\u0103 \u00een aerul curat.\/<\/p>\n
\u00cemi dau drumul m\u00e2inilor \u00een gol,\/
\nFurnici cu aripi pierdute \u00eentr-un \u00eentuneric\/
\n\/V\u00e2scos,\/
\nStoluri de p\u0103s\u0103ri zbur\u00e2nd \u00een interiorul p\u0103m\u00e2ntului,\/
\nDou\u0103 planete noi, descoperite, se \u00eendep\u0103rteaz\u0103\/
\nTot mai mult de aceast\u0103 galaxie,\/<\/p>\n
Vor forma galaxia lor.\/<\/p>\n
Privesc, trecutul devine un p\u0103m\u00e2nt\/
\nPe care iarba cre\u015fte \u00eentr-un ritm alert,\/
\nCopacii devin iarb\u0103,\/ plantele,\/ oamenii,\/ culoarea cerului\/
\nCea de iarb\u0103,\/
\nA\u015ftrii vin cu mi\u015fcarea pa\u015filor de insect\u0103 pe ap\u0103.\/<\/p>\n
\u00cemi las m\u00e2inile s\u0103 te cuprind\u0103,\/
\nC\u00e2nd vei c\u0103dea mai departe\/
\nDe locul unde sunt,\/<\/p>\n
Nu uita,\/
\nDou\u0103 planete,\/ inegale,\/ incolore,\/
\ndescoperite,\/
\nVor avea propria galaxie.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
S\u0103 facem lucrurile s\u0103 fie c\u00e2t mai simple \/ s\u0103 nu sim\u021bim \u00een noi pe moment atmosfera din camera f\u0103r\u0103 nicio priz\u0103 \/s\u0103 devenim la fel de u\u0219ori ca o insul\u0103 ce se scufund\u0103 t\u0103cut\u0103\/ iar faptele cu adev\u0103rat importante se transform\u0103 \u00een ghe\u021bari din care r\u0103zuim at\u00e2t c\u00e2t ne trebuie pentru o mare\/dincolo un \u00eenceput de c\u00e2ntec la acordeon anun\u021b\u0103 un teribil gen muzical \/ singur\u0103tatea, un pumn de insecte strivite sub forma unui stup\/\u00eenceput de joc de \u0219ah \u00een a\u0219teptarea \u0219ahistului pierdut pe veci. \/mirosul de vechi vine de la florile de h\u00e2rtie din balcon. \/lucrurile c\u00e2t mai simple.\/s\u0103 fim la fel de u\u0219ori ca acest ochi de albin\u0103 care ne prive\u0219te.<\/p>\n
\n***
\ntot aerul pe care \u00eel inspir de minute \u00een\u015fir are mirosul unei bare de leag\u0103n, r\u0103mas \u00een palme, soarele nu a disp\u0103rut, cineva mai pu\u0163in \u00eendem\u00e2natic l-a \u00eenfiletat \u00een locul unui bec de 100 W, ne\u015ftiind c\u0103 soarele are 500 W \u015fi a explodat, camera mea e f\u0103cut\u0103 dintr-un aluat diluat cu mult\u0103 ap\u0103 st\u0103tut\u0103, \u00eemi reg\u0103sesc amprentele de anii trecu\u0163i l\u0103sate \u00een cutia maro pe poze, coper\u0163i de c\u0103r\u0163i rupte, de st\u00e2lpul de l\u00e2ng\u0103 noi, invizibil, a fost lipit un afi\u015f gol, reclam\u0103 la singur\u0103tatea perfect\u0103, f\u0103r\u0103 vicii, temeri, scr\u00e2\u015fniri patetice, \u00eentoarcerea \u00een locul unde am copil\u0103rit, prin fa\u0163\u0103 \u00eemi trec imagini de atunci, aliniate ca planta\u0163iile de c\u00e2nep\u0103 de pe strada c\u00e2nepii, pe care unii le udau din c\u00e2nd \u00een c\u00e2nd cu ap\u0103 amestecat\u0103 cu ulei, apoi fugeau. \u00cen capul meu, g\u00e2ndurile bune planeaz\u0103 precum un \u015fir de baloane zbur\u0103toare, pe timpul unei nop\u0163i \u00een de\u015fert.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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***
\nDoar trei patru copaci,
\nR\u0103sfira\u0163i \u00eencolo, \u00eencoace,
\nUndeva \u00een margine,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[30],"tags":[],"coauthors":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-wr","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2011"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2011"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2011\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2014,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2011\/revisions\/2014"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2011"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2011"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2011"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=2011"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}