why does the thinker from Hamangia sit in the window of a travel agency

now it was the time to sit propped on my elbows
upon my share of sky waiting for the end of the world
(everyone knows what this means) I and all the children of my age
with their parents
and axis mundi
and the hatchet chopping always something else
more or less barren

I still have my geographical atlas from gymnasium
back then we played the game of statues and we tickled stones
and the laughter
was gargling close to our ears
like the water of the sweet spring source
from which I was piously exhorted to drink
innocence/ silence/ eternal youth

it is more common to see people coming back from their death
than the man with his tight lips kissing
the wall of wails and gufaws
kissing the heart of the cross
that sometimes looks like a man propped in one leg
stuck into the ground with his life in other men’s scripts
with his large arms still bearing fruit

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Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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