sometimes my path tastes brackish,
and my soul is whiteproof and cavernous,
like the silence of gods.
i’m tired and i need to rest, but your dawn,
broken inside my smile,
won’t allow me.
sounds crash against my inert flesh
as if they were grim shades of dead voices
losing their poise to the limpness of the clay –
i’m looking at gorgeous ghosts,
and suddenly the highest mountains pale
in front of the goose bumps on my skin:
i rise and walk again, with bleeding feet,
along the lines of your word –
the same word along which edge you once
gave me a name.
© 2014 Liliana Negoi

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