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Disociere<\/strong><\/p>\n m\u0103 enerveaz\u0103 c\u0103 poezia nu e un animal de circ, M\u0103-ntorc la r\u0103d\u0103cini<\/strong><\/p>\n soarele \u00eennegrit se tope\u0219te ca o bil\u0103 de plumb poezia nu face parte din carne Happy b-day<\/strong><\/p>\n vidul \u00eenchegat pe \u00eencheieturile mele, Salteaua f\u0103r\u0103 cear\u0219af<\/strong><\/p>\n m-am ag\u0103\u021bat de figura ta parental\u0103, pentru a dezgropa iubirea Faustian<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cMoloch in whom I sit lonely.\u201d (Howl- A. Ginsberg<\/em>)<\/p>\n m\u0103 rog la zeul disocierii poezia este \u00eembinarea celor dou\u0103 lumi, Saudade<\/strong><\/p>\n mintea mea se-ntinde ca o gum\u0103 C-PTSD<\/strong><\/p>\n scrisul s-a n\u0103scut ca ultim mecanism de ap\u0103rare Disociere<\/strong><\/p>\n m\u0103 enerveaz\u0103 …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[5,30,44,47],"tags":[],"coauthors":[75],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4rsGx-Na","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3048"}],"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=3048"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3048\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3052,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3048\/revisions\/3052"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3048"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3048"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3048"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.nymagazin.com\/en_US\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/coauthors?post=3048"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nnu poate fi dresat\u0103
\nci explodeaz\u0103 ca un ciot de napalm
\n\u00een miezul zilei caniculare
\nc\u00e2nd Komunyakaa a\u0219tepta ca
\nscheletul bombei s\u0103-i tran\u0219eze min\u021bile
\n& pic\u0103turi de s\u00e2nge s\u0103 se amestece cu unda de \u0219oc,
\ndeton\u00e2nd jungla sub soarele transversal
\npe hemoragia din centrul lumii.
\no combina\u021bie de acid lisergic
\n& monoxid de carbon, copilul rebel
\nal literaturii \u00eenf\u0103\u0219urat pe un ac de sering\u0103
\nmenit s\u0103 lini\u0219teasc\u0103 o criz\u0103
\ncu efect de stroboscop & oasele din urechea intern\u0103
\n\u00ee\u021bi c\u00e2nt\u0103 soloul din Comfortably Numb
\nale c\u0103rui note zboar\u0103 peste c\u00e2mpul de cenu\u0219\u0103.<\/p>\n
\n\u00een balta \u00een care frunzele-\u0219i danseaz\u0103 moartea
\n& eu sunt o por\u021bie de monoxid de carbon
\ninspirat\u0103 de pl\u0103m\u00e2nii mecanici
\nai timpului \u00eenfometat de contur.
\nstrig\u0103te penetreaz\u0103 corpul spasmodic,
\n\u00eentorc\u00e2ndu-se la r\u0103d\u0103cina plantei carnivore,
\n\u00eemi autodevorez mintea
\nca pe o imagine r\u0103sturnat\u0103 \u00een balansul bolilor,
\nmortalitatea insectelor ce populeaz\u0103 leag\u0103nul empatic
\n& apa circul\u0103 prin calorifer
\ncu viteza zeului al c\u0103rui cap
\nse sfarm\u0103 ca un cocon de nisip.
\nhai s\u0103 facem dragoste
\n\u00een patul p\u0103tat de s\u00e2nge,
\nbecurile brodate s\u0103 ne-nf\u0103\u021bi\u0219eze
\nsl\u0103biciunea \u00een fa\u021ba mor\u021bii
\nca un s\u00e2n dual- Iisus & Iuda,
\no s\u0103m\u00e2n\u021b\u0103 ce germineaz\u0103 \u00een doi pumni diferi\u021bi
\nde \u021b\u0103r\u00e2n\u0103, sunt eu,
\ncopilul, iubita cu p\u0103rul desf\u0103cut,
\nm\u0103 preling peste corpul t\u0103u transpirat
\n& cu for\u021ba unui p\u0103ianjen
\nm\u0103 ag\u0103\u021b de p\u00e2nza luminoas\u0103
\ncare \u00eemi d\u0103 via\u021b\u0103 dar m\u0103 \u0219i consum\u0103
\n\u00eentr-un Dumnezeu paradoxal.
\nironic m\u0103 reconvertesc, m\u0103 agit
\n\u00een fa\u021ba absen\u021bei, seam\u0103n\u0103 cu un glob de sticl\u0103 mut,
\nrefuz\u00e2nd s\u0103 proiecteze
\nchipul mor\u021bii care graviteaz\u0103 constant
\ndeasupra min\u021bii mele fascinate de buc\u0103\u021bi.<\/p>\n
\nca un organ.
\nea este de sine st\u0103t\u0103toare,
\nnu e copilul meu
\nci o form\u0103 care se na\u0219te l\u00e2ng\u0103 mine.
\nochii mei se-nchid,
\ncheagul se sparge pe o foaie
\nalb\u0103 ca laptele din cana
\ncu trandafiri gri crescu\u021bi
\npeste oasele p\u0103m\u00e2ntului.<\/p>\n
\n\u00eenveli\u0219 de sticl\u0103 sub\u021bire.
\nte comemorez cu lum\u00e2n\u0103ri imaginare
\nplantate \u00een hipocamp-
\nmla\u0219tin\u0103 cu p\u0103s\u0103ri prinse \u00een m\u00e2l.
\nmi-am evaluat prost conturul,
\nnicotina acum nu m\u0103 prea ajut\u0103,
\ncreierul se consum\u0103 ca un monument de tutun,
\nsufletul la fel.
\nce s\u0103 mai fac dac\u0103
\nai aprins deja fitilul?
\ntrecutul s-a expandat \u00eenc\u0103 de-atunci
\niar viitorul a orbit \u00een sfera de sticl\u0103.
\nLa mul\u021bi ani!<\/p>\n
\ncol\u021boas\u0103, cu unghiuri at\u00e2t de ascu\u021bite
\n\u00eenc\u00e2t \u00eemi lezeaz\u0103 creierul, vaginul & tot
\ndin care e compus\u0103 fiin\u021ba mea abandonat\u0103
\n\u00een obsesia ta fa\u021b\u0103 de singur\u0103tate & sex.
\nm-ai ascuns printre sticlele de bere
\ndin barul t\u0103u preaiubit \u00een care la cinci diminea\u021ba
\nm\u0103 joc cu dorin\u021ba ta de distan\u021bare
\niar c\u00e2nd ajungem acas\u0103 m\u0103-mbrac \u00een maioul alb.
\ntu m\u0103 prive\u0219ti cu ochi obosi\u021bi, scur\u0219i de alcool
\n& \u00eemi spui s\u0103 aprind becule\u021bele
\nca s\u0103 m\u0103 consumi pentru c\u0103 nu \u00een\u021belegi
\nde ce o asemenea femeie te-a ales tocmai pe tine.
\natunci eu \u00ee\u021bi tr\u00e2ntesc pe mas\u0103 teoriile lui Freud.
\nte iubesc f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 \u0219tiu de ce
\nde parc\u0103 firimiturile \u00eembinate cu sudoare
\naruncate pe salteaua f\u0103r\u0103 cear\u0219af
\n\u00eenseamn\u0103 o mare iubire
\nsau c\u0103 alienarea mea are formula fericirii \u00een cuplu.
\n\u0219tiu c\u0103 sunt pe jum\u0103tate copil
\ndar nu uita c\u0103 am dou\u0103 capete
\n& uneori cred c\u0103 sunt o femeie frumoas\u0103
\ndar asta, paradoxal, te-a \u00eentors \u00eempotriva mea.
\neste periculos s\u0103-\u021bi folose\u0219ti corpul
\nca ultim magnet<\/p>\n
\n& falsa str\u0103lucire apune ca o minge de sulf.<\/p>\n
\ns\u0103-mi dea o palm\u0103 peste fa\u021b\u0103
\nca s\u0103 pot scrie
\n& circuitele amigdaliene s\u0103 se descarce
\n\u00eentr-o poezie ca un panou solar.
\ns\u00e2mb\u0103t\u0103, 6 diminea\u021ba,
\nnu vreau s\u0103 trag draperiile,
\nlumea este un loc str\u0103in
\n\u00een care m\u0103 joc cu fr\u00e2nturi de lumin\u0103
\n& imagina\u021bie roas\u0103 de \u0219obolanul incon\u0219tientului,
\ncu\u0219ca de care s-a lipit insecta
\ndevenind una, fiin\u021b\u0103 de beton
\ncu ochi forja\u021bi de colosul prezent
\n\u00een capul meu, pe care \u00eel mai adorm
\ns\u00e2mb\u0103t\u0103 noaptea c\u00e2nd venele
\nse transform\u0103 \u00een tuburi de lumin\u0103
\n& solzii mei cad de pe inima ghimpat\u0103-
\nun Iisus ce-\u0219i smulge p\u0103rul
\ncu ambele m\u00e2ini g\u0103urite
\nc\u00e2nd adulmec\u0103 pa\u0219ii mizeriei
\npe f\u00e2\u0219ia existen\u021bei umane,
\ndezam\u0103girea c\u00e2nd ai impresia
\nc\u0103 via\u021ba \u00eemparte experien\u021ba ca o prism\u0103
\ndar tu te situezi la extreme
\n& mintea ta e ochiul mecanic
\nal g\u00e2ndacului ce \u00eencearc\u0103
\ns\u0103 ias\u0103 din chiuveta
\nplin\u0103 de vase & cotidianul
\nte cople\u0219e\u0219te ca o p\u0103tur\u0103 murdar\u0103
\npe care ai fi vrut s\u0103 na\u0219ti,
\ns\u0103 te na\u0219ti \u00eentr-un glob cu un bec
\nbrodat \u00een cuptorul cald
\n\u00een care se coc pl\u0103cinte
\nnu mai multe selfuri
\ndin cauza inconstan\u021bei celor doi ochi
\nforma\u021bi \u00een tiparul binelui & r\u0103ului,
\nf\u0103r\u0103 grade sau nuan\u021be
\nca becule\u021bele gri de deasupra tabloului.
\ncai negri \u00een galop ce nu se duc
\nde fapt nic\u0103ieri la fel ca emo\u021biile
\n\u00eentoarse tot \u00een floarea de carne-
\nac\u021bioneaz\u0103 ca o matc\u0103 pentru proprii copii
\nentuziasma\u021bi de auto-devorare
\nca de un act erotic \u00een\u0103l\u021b\u0103tor
\n\u00een degradarea constant\u0103,
\nfalsa matrice imaginat\u0103 de la zece ani
\n& de\u0219irarea ghemului ro\u0219u pentru o p\u0103tur\u0103 de nimic
\nau fost doi pumni de \u021b\u0103r\u00e2n\u0103
\n\u00een care vreau \u0219i nu vreau s\u0103 m\u0103-ntorc.
\nam renun\u021bat la c\u0103utare,
\nm-am oprit la starea de fapt,
\nmomentul, \u00eengerul care fuge
\nde \u00eembr\u0103\u021bi\u0219area titanului rupt
\nde realitatea m\u0103cinat\u0103,
\nn\u0103scut\u0103 din absurd
\ndar \u00eensetat\u0103 de concret.<\/p>\n
\nmintea mea poate exista \u00een glandele ei mamare
\n& poate fi dureroas\u0103 ca o pustul\u0103
\nsau m\u0103rea\u021b\u0103 ca un orgasm.<\/p>\n
\n\u00een gu\u0219a unui porumbel,
\no unghie \u00eencarnat\u0103 \u00een creier
\nsem\u0103n\u00e2nd cu un glock
\n\u00een g\u00e2tul unei prostituate.
\ndup\u0103 ce o s\u0103 facem sex
\no s\u0103-\u021bi povestesc despre boal\u0103
\n& mai multe selfuri.
\n\u00eenc\u0103rc\u0103torul nu se mai destinde.
\npe strad\u0103 mergeau oamenii de c\u0103rbune
\nprin raza mortal\u0103 a s\u0103r\u0103ciei.
\nferici\u021bi cei s\u0103raci cu duhul!
\nfemeile cu ochii mari ce-\u0219i leag\u0103n\u0103 pruncii
\nf\u0103r\u00e2mi\u021ba\u021bi de un viitor instabil
\noscil\u00e2nd \u00eentre har & nebunia
\nzilelor petrecute \u00een mizeria
\npuricilor de pe plasm\u0103.
\nm\u0103 arunc \u00een cad\u0103
\nca \u00eentr-un gheizer ce m\u0103 va
\nproiecta p\u00e2n\u0103 la soarele
\nde forma unui uter mai gelatinos
\ndec\u00e2t jeleul \u00een form\u0103 de ursule\u021bi.
\nmirosul oaselor muribunde
\nm\u0103 pietrific\u0103 \u00een golul
\nbecule\u021belor de Cr\u0103ciun
\nce sclipesc precum gloan\u021bele
\nde pe \u021beav\u0103 urm\u0103rind
\nacel sentiment preauman
\nde maternintate & dor
\nca o piatr\u0103 \u00een pantof.<\/p>\n
\nce m\u0103-nso\u021be\u0219te prin jungla mental\u0103
\n& lianele se transform\u0103 \u00een tije de o\u021bel,
\narterele ora\u0219ului construit pe baza schemei disociative.
\naici nimic nu este con\u0219tient
\n& cea\u021ba ademene\u0219te circuitele neuronale.
\nnu r\u0103m\u00e2ne dec\u00e2t instinctul ca o statuie
\ncu pielea m\u0103cinat\u0103 de realitatea distopic\u0103
\nproiect\u00e2nd non-stop cercul absurdului.
\npoezia este o lam\u0103 cu dou\u0103 t\u0103i\u0219uri-
\ncele dou\u0103 fe\u021be ale zeului spun aceea\u0219i poveste:
\nomul va urma \u00eentotdeauna calea eliber\u0103rii
\ndar cartu\u0219ul se va umple constant cu gloan\u021be
\niar branula va penetra infinit pielea
\np\u00e2n\u0103 c\u00e2nd morfina \u00ee\u0219i va fr\u00e2nge aripile.
\nmi-a\u0219 dori s\u0103 m\u0103 \u201etratez\u201d de cuv\u00e2nt
\ndoar c\u0103 piatra a fost deja cusut\u0103 pe coloana mea
\n& c\u00e2nd literele vor \u00eenceta s\u0103-mi curg\u0103 din degete
\n\u00eenseamn\u0103 c\u0103 m\u0103 voi fi vindecat.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<\/p>\n