antivirus

you were preaching

right from wrong

through a broken lens

in the meantime,

i've been climbing high enough

to see the bottom of the well

and i'm rewriting

the ghost in the machine

the machine in my veins

the depth of my breath

the code of safety in my cells

one milimeter closer to life

persephone

lights dimming

and the world purrs in sync

with the sun's descent

remember the quiet days,

 a darkness richer than soil

calling for the soles of your feet

to sink in deep-

what is there to do with all this night?

it barely fits in the palm of my hand,

in the spark of my synapses

I cross the days and think of nothing

as a closing of eyes,

famished for silence,

blooms in the heart of the earth

and makes its way towards the light

reflection

I pull at the string

holding memory

close to itself- 

how you fed me

how you showed me windows 

in a home full of closed doors 

mirrors full of soul

reflecting from glass to glass 

in dirty hues, 

barely real 

barely clean 

I wasn't afraid to be small with you,

but all that gold 

hidden under the table 

where we dined and talked 

without saying a word? 

I didn't think it was mine. 

I miss the comfort

of your soul 

as much as I've missed mine before.

boundary

noise melting into the static

of a thousand quiet planets 

spinning 

you speak of yourself 

as if you weren't here, 

a polaroid half-blurred by spilled spirits 

a smudge on god's billion-faced portrait, 

a half-truth, spoken by no one.

my dearest, no one will build 

or destroy an empire for you

post op

what a strange thought-
we'll never betray ourselves again

to keep each other alive

narcissus, hourglass-bound.

take this language, take all language

and unwind it to the first word

you've ever said to someone you loved

moon at dawn, crying on the streets

where the past still lingers, open and dangerous, a crime scene

closed before investigation

i'm getting clumsy. this is the language

of disguise-

i'm growing too opaque

to hide in plain sight

alt fel

cântec rece;

ochi privind nu spre soare,

ci spre degetul

care îl arată

pe spectru culorile se amestecă

albastru devine mov devine colţul

ciobit al scaunului de metrou

prin care curge zgomotul neoanelor

spre un alt pământ

pe banda îngustă a atenţiei

se întrece realul cu realul

limită de viteză: foarte încet

şi extrem de repede

în acelaşi timp

uită-te la mine, dar lasă-mă

să mă uit la mâinile tale

cum împletesc lumea asta nouă, stranie

pe care vreau s-o muşc

şi să o scuip

printre buzele unui alt dumnezeu

dizolvare

privirea asta

e o rochie descheiată

în miezul verii

sub care vreau să mă pierd

cine a visat pe cine?

fluturele

s-a visat pe sine,

clipire în zbor

noi suntem capitole în oglindă

ale unui roman despre orice.

zgomotul rece al barierei căzute

liniştea poroasă a eliberării

orice poveste măsoară distanţa

dintre moarte şi naştere

orice vis, la fel ca apa,

are centrul peste tot

şi marginile nicăieri