![\"17493204_1694499050566029_791240863662818555_o\"](\"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/17493204_1694499050566029_791240863662818555_o.jpg\")
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1.
\nE un timp al terorii \u0219i al uit\u0103rii,
\nn-am nevoie de cuvinte mari
\nca s\u0103 descriu
\nce a murit.
\nMor\u021bii tac acum,
\no s\u0103 taci \u0219i tu,
\ns-au rupt vr\u0103jile,
\ne o lumin\u0103 dement\u0103-n toate
\n\u0219i se las\u0103 o lini\u0219te veche, o cea\u021b\u0103
\n\u00een care pierd s\u00e2nge.
\nS\u00e2nge negru, s\u00e2nge r\u0103u,
\ntimpul trece si recicleaz\u0103.
\nAt\u00e2t de t\u00e2n\u0103r\u0103 \u0219i totu\u0219i undeva,
\no senza\u021bie de deja-vu
\ncare zg\u00e2rie.
\nPe str\u0103zi revolt\u0103,
\npeste grani\u021be r\u0103zboi,
\ndar aici, \u00een cartierul industrial,
\ndoar urlet de marfar
\n\u0219i mici r\u0103fuieli
\n\u00eentre cer\u0219etori.
\nSf\u00e2\u0219ie-m\u0103 un pic,
\nprovoac\u0103-m\u0103. E un mecanism al urii
\ncare vrea s\u0103 se declan\u0219eze.
\nDar tot ce g\u0103sesc e tandre\u021be,
\nc\u00e2teva haine
\naruncate pe l\u00e2ng\u0103 pat,
\nc\u00e2teva farfurii l\u0103sate-n chiuvet\u0103.
\nPe tine nu te pot ur\u00ee. Micile tale defecte
\nsunt o continu\u0103 mirare,
\nc\u00e2ntecele tale
\nruse\u0219ti, \u00eentotdeauna terapie.
\nS\u00e2nge negru, s\u00e2nge tehnicolor,
\npe str\u0103zi revolt\u0103,
\nte \u021bin de m\u00e2n\u0103
\n\u0219i adorm.<\/p>\n
\n2.
\nPrins\u0103-n lentoarea
\ndimine\u021bilor de iarn\u0103,
\nsoarele bate-n ferestre
\npe care nu mai \u00eenflore\u0219te ghea\u021b\u0103.
\n\u00centinse prin cas\u0103, mii de capcane,
\nde inamici invizibili. Iar tu,
\n\u00een col\u021bul t\u0103u, cu ochii t\u0103i sovietici,
\ncu mi\u0219c\u0103rile tale
\nmaladive.
\nAdemene\u0219te-m\u0103
\ncu o \u021bigar\u0103, hai s\u0103 ne facem
\nscrum creierele. Pe balconul care d\u0103
\nspre cartierul industrial,
\ncu blocuri comuniste recent cosmetizate,
\ncu ma\u0219ini nem\u021be\u0219ti second hand. Nu suntem dec\u00e2t
\nni\u0219te \u0219obolani, \u00eemi spui,
\nni\u0219te \u0219obolani cu pu\u021bin mai mult noroc,
\ncu pu\u021bin mai mult\u0103 speran\u021b\u0103.
\nPoeziile noastre triste
\nnu sunt dec\u00e2t
\nun paradox. O durere for\u021bat\u0103, o durere part-time.
\n\u00cen realitate e totul mult mai simplu. Doar
\ntinere\u021be \u0219i naivitate,
\nseri cu lung-metraje europene
\n\u0219i certuri copil\u0103re\u0219ti,
\nnesiguran\u021ba de toate zilele,
\nnesiguran\u021ba tuturor.<\/p>\n
St\u0103m \u00eentin\u0219i, pe tavan aurora boreal\u0103
\niar tu
\n\u00eemi spui
\nun adev\u0103r care \u00eempac\u0103.
\nV\u0103d un z\u00e2mbet care se str\u00e2nge ca o bucat\u0103 de plastic
\nsub flac\u0103ra brichetei, ochi lumino\u0219i
\nsurprin\u0219i de camere pe care dac\u0103 dai zoom
\npo\u021bi s\u0103 vezi cea mai primitiv\u0103 form\u0103
\nde singur\u0103tate. Fericirea lor for\u021bat\u0103.
\n\u00cen\u021beleg tot acum,
\nmi-e grea\u021b\u0103
\n\u0219i mi-e mil\u0103.<\/p>\n
\n3.
\nN-am nicio poveste
\ntrist\u0103 s\u0103 v\u0103 spun, niciun
\nsubterfugiu la \u00eendem\u00e2n\u0103,
\npot doar s\u0103 las faruri de ma\u0219ini
\ns\u0103 lumineze \u00een mine,
\ntoate sunt acolo \u0219i (i)radiaz\u0103,<\/p>\n
e o ironie stranie \u00een lume,
\ncea\u021ba portocalie \u00een care m\u0103 pierd pe cel mai crunt ger,
\nnoaptea, c\u00e2nd cineva mai puternic
\npreia controlul,
\nne ad\u0103postim \u00een sf-uri, \u00een capsule de timp
\nunde credem cu t\u0103rie
\nc\u0103 nu ne p\u00e2nde\u0219te niciun pericol,
\ndar totu\u0219i de ce \u021bin m\u00e2na cu putere pe cu\u021bita\u0219ul
\nascuns \u00een buzunar
\n\u00een cartierul \u00een care am crescut, noaptea,
\nde ce
\n\u00eemi ascut auzul
\n\u0219i cu periferia ochilor
\nv\u0103d scenarii hidoase ca ni\u0219te flashuri
\ndin thrillerele pe care at\u00e2t de mult le iubesc,
\nde ce nu m\u0103 mul\u021bumesc
\ncu realitatea, de ce mi se pare
\nplictisitoarea
\nvia\u021ba mea tihnit\u0103, lipsit\u0103 de griji,
\ncu p\u0103rin\u021bi iubitori \u0219i c\u0103su\u021b\u0103 din pove\u0219ti,
\nde ce nu-mi ajunge
\niubitul ca un ursule\u021b de plu\u0219
\nperfect, psihanalitic, de ce-l lovesc
\n\u0219i de ce \u00eencerc s\u0103-i descos ochii \u0219i s\u0103-i \u00eentorc
\ninima de vat\u0103
\npe toate p\u0103r\u021bile,<\/p>\n
nicio poveste trist\u0103
\nn-am s\u0103 v\u0103 spun,
\neu \u00eens\u0103mi
\nsunt
\no poveste trist\u0103,
\n\u0219i totu\u0219i de ce z\u00e2mbesc
\n\u00een toate pozele de pe net, de ce trec prin
\ntot felul de filtre
\ntot ce mi se \u00eent\u00e2mpl\u0103
\nde parc\u0103 a\u0219 fi un copil r\u00e2zg\u00e2iat
\ncare caut\u0103
\ncu lum\u00e2narea
\npericole.<\/p>\n
\n4.<\/p>\n
Ies \u00een strad\u0103, e un ger care defibrileaz\u0103.
\nReiau vechiile vicii, instalez
\nun nou parazit \u00een sistem, m\u0103 alint
\ncu c\u00e2teva momente de bipolaritate.
\nCum am \u00een\u021beles
\na\u0219a devreme totul, cum am ajuns s\u0103 \u00ee\u021bi dirijez
\ncrizele de somnambulism,
\n\u00een nop\u021bile cu prea mult\u0103 lumin\u0103
\n\u0219i paranoia, cum am vrut
\ns\u0103 distrug tot ce-nseamn\u0103 poezie c\u00e2nd
\nmi-am ciobit \u021beasta
\nde primul parapet de ur\u0103.<\/p>\n
Dar vin dimine\u021bi senine,
\ncopaci \u00eenflori\u021bi peste tot
\n\u0219i lumea pare un loc suportabil.
\nNicio vr\u0103jitoare
\n\u00eentr-un col\u021b de minte,
\nnimic de iertat,
\n\u00een gar\u0103 g\u0103l\u0103gie,
\n\u00een noi cheful de a \u00eencepe ceva nou.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
5.<\/p>\n
\u00cenc\u0103 o dat\u0103 s\u0103 trec
\nprin anotimpul
\nepidemiilor, al copacilor \u00eenflori\u021bi
\nsecera\u021bi de ninsoare la sf\u00e2\u0219it de aprilie,
\nal atacurilor de panic\u0103
\nde la sf\u00e2r\u0219itul zilelor, al momentelor
\nc\u00e2nd
\n\u0219tiu dinainte ce gest o s\u0103 faci, ce replic\u0103 o s\u0103-mi dai
\npentru c\u0103 sunt ale mele, ale tale,
\nale noastre, amestecate-ntr-o
\nconfuzie
\npsidehelic\u0103,<\/p>\n
\u00eenc\u0103 un knock-ut, \u00eenc\u0103
\no dat\u0103 puterea de a ierta
\nce nu credeam c\u0103 voi ierta,
\neu, care-s o necredincioas\u0103,
\ntotu\u0219i t\u00e2njesc
\nla un fel de iluminare spiritual\u0103, la zen-ul suprem,
\nca yoghinii, pielea deja palid\u0103,
\nlipit\u0103 de os, doar lipsa
\nunui canal de comunicare, lipsa unei surse
\nla care s\u0103 m\u0103 pot conecta f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 m\u0103 pufneasc\u0103 r\u00e2sul,
\nc\u00e2nd \u00een cele din urm\u0103 toate par infantilit\u0103\u021bi,
\nfelul nostru stupid
\nde a ne l\u0103sa drena\u021bi
\nde vampiri energetici,
\ndin start, f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 ne d\u0103m nicio \u0219ans\u0103,<\/p>\n
\u00eenc\u0103 o dat\u0103
\ns\u0103 merg
\nprin iarba care \u00eei p\u0103rea neconceput de verde sor\u0103-mii
\nprin lentila ochelarilor,
\ndup\u0103 ani \u0219i ani de miopie,
\ns\u0103-mi alint pielea
\ncu c\u00e2teva b\u0103i de soare,
\naici, \u00eentre dealurile acoperite
\nde km de vi\u021b\u0103-de-vie,
\nunde a\u0219 putea s\u0103 m\u0103 pr\u0103bu\u0219esc oric\u00e2nd
\n\u0219i s\u0103 nu mai \u0219tie
\nnimeni de mine.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
<\/p>\n
1.
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