Can of Poetry in its own Juice – poesia in scatola, nel sugo proprio – conservă de poezie în suc propriu

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I feel like summer
Outside it bursts with tits – the shore contains
9% sand, 74% footprints, and the rest, secrets, the sea keeps besieging them
In vain
I feel like again
Outside, the longing, like a shirt pulled out of pants and knotted,
Chases me until I forget and take the shore for the sea, just the same
A corkscrew shell pulls out childhood’s plug, the wind sings it

Poetry is consumed on an empty heart
When the wave washes the sand off of hearts and
The notebook of the sea shows itself pious as a virgin and it is not written in human
In a metallic fashion, summer dresses the night in scent of shells

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Sento l’estate
al di fuori l’esplodono le tette – riva del mare contiene
9% di sabbia, 74% impronte delle suole, dei rimanenti misteri, il mare mette sempre un grande assedio
invano

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seagulls, lost loves – i gabbiani, amori passati – Pescăruşi, foste iubiri

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The seagulls shed their voices
under empty windows
Only the roofs know by heart the history of rains, not the soil,
where love never lived…
.
This upside down painting attracts like a trap, like a cage…
And so, the seagulls scream loud and it seems as if for the last time over a basalt blue roof
The world was born petrified, walking statues..
.
Lost loves is a false phrase, real love
can never be lost…

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I gabbiani perdono le voci
sotto le finestre vuote
Solo i tetti conoscono a memoria la storia di piogge, non il terreno,
dove l’amore non ha mai vissuto…
.
Questo dipinto a testa in giù attrae come una trappola, come una gabbia …
E così, i gabbiani gridano ad alta voce e sembra come se per l’ultima volta
sopra un tetto blu basalto
Il mondo è nato già pietrificato, statue camminanti…

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forgetful foxes, frolic on dials – volpi smemorate, zampettando sul quadrante – vulpi uituce, zburdă pe cadrane

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I didn’t see hares, or roosters wearing fox fur collars around their necks
The mind can’t love more than the aura does, because
You can only forget with your mind
Even though we first fall in love with appearances,
wrappers, suppositions and disillusioned expectations, idealizing to the brink of madness
I never saw Death showing off, wearing human skin scarves around her neck
Oblivion is a cure for sublime pains, for youth, for life
You could forget everything, even the smell of your favorite flower
Even the oblivion itself, but they all come back to you eventually
Only one thing you will forget for good, the way back
Dotted with hares, roosters, foxes, foxes, unending foxes…

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Non ho visto lepri o galli o indossando pelliccia di volpe al collo…
La mente non può amare più dell’aura, perché
si può dimenticare solo con la mente
Anche se ci s’innamora…

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A thousand times NO – Mille volte no – de o mie de ori nu

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Never regard love as a pandemonium
Nor peace as a pang of boredom
Take everything without roughness, in preapproved packages
At standards studied in special seminars
Love softly, love ideational, don’t dare
Throw out the animal in your ribcage
And take the false prayer for antibiotic
A thousand times NO
I want to close the zoo in my hat, my underwear,
Live the plenitude of an imperfect, profane I, an I unfermented wine
The hell under our feet writes destinies – You choose!
.

mai considerò l’amore come un pandemonio
né la pace come una fitta di noia
prendo tutto senza rugosità, in imballaggi omologati
alle norme studiate ai seminari speciali
mai amerò soffice, ideativa, per timore
di tirare fuori l’animale della cassa toracica
e prendere falsa preghiera per antibiotico
Mille volte no
Voglio chiudere lo zoo del mio cappello, delle mie mutande,
e di vivere la pienezza…

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hostile hermit – l’eremita ostile – ascet potrivnic

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Should I muzzle my pores, should I put them in a leash?
they snap at life a bit too much…
My longings are fiddlers made of old wax
on a paper boat and
the Sun is sliding even closer today
Something is about to happen, an imminent love or the climax about which
we’ll talk in past tense, because longing must be nurtured constantly
Should I put my pores and my thoughts
in the area that is spiritualized in a faulty manner? – the heresies passed as lyricism
give away everything and head for the wilderness?
Enough to shed the shirts of major plans..
– I appreciate the gesture but, please, don’t block my Sun
Let me melt without the benefit of friendly shadows, this today is unique for me..

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Dovrei mettere museruole ai miei pori, dovrei metterli in un guinzaglio?
troppo cercano per mordere dalla vita
I…

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the shame – vergogna – ruşinea

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In nudism, false modesty, established standards
You can never teach the heart without throwing it into the centrifuge..

First centrifuge hides well in clocks
Another, in the parade of imagined or irreconcilable feelings
Another yet, in coward hesitations

It’s a shame to walk the streets of the town, naked
Why, one can’t see behind the impeccable smartness of clothes
The soul ravaged by hostile nudities, when one uses the eye sockets to see the world around

I experimented with shame in different overlapped formats:
I wore shackles, I pulled down my pants in public, I begged at train stations,
I did my necessities on the street
I did a woman in a gangway, on a garage door.. the old hags would comment in awe:
“sweet lord, that’s why it doesn’t rain !..” and the Done-one would throw over the shoulder
While walking away
Like a satyr : “I…

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