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“love thy neighbor”

raw blue flows over withered sands like a rain of quietness paving the path towards Eden with smaller heavens, shaped like tears, for light to walk upon them. from one side of the sky to the other, among clouds heavy with the footsteps of saints wandering, more and more often, from bottom to top, sometimes … Continue reading

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when shadows cover the words

When shadows cover the words all that remain are heartbeats woven around seconds, lips now just a silence-bleeding scar, and recycled oxygen. The scent of empty daylight slithers into senses without the slightest hiss ink curdles and not even wolves dare to howl. When shadows cover the words paper breaks under the weight of nothingness … Continue reading

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call me

call me when you’ll be old so old that the only thing making sense to your tired hands will be to open the windows during sunrise and to latch them back at dusk, when any name you’d call will taste round and salty in your voice when it will scratch the silence call me when … Continue reading

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senryu

a squeak suddenly crossing the humid silence – the door or my joints? © Liliana Negoi 2016

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haiku

first day of autumn – the V of migrating geese like mom’s signature © Liliana Negoi 2016

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just a thought

If we managed to make a glass from the sands of time and then looked through it would we be able to see the light of the first star ever touching the death of the last star ever like God touches Adam on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling? And if we did then shouldn’t we suddenly … Continue reading

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vanity

after i die people will caress the bones of my words they’ll gather them from the paper with their eyelids they’ll embrace them with their thoughts like the thighs of a woman those of her man they’ll squeeze them of sense and colour and will leave them to lie wilted on the ground trying to … Continue reading

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the was of the will be

for a friend who makes me think 🙂 i open your book of poems just like old priests open the bible in search for masked predictions of future – and just like those priests i find that the future doesn’t change, only the moment when we contemplate it just like the heart that my child … Continue reading

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tanka

in the old seashell i can still listen to the sound of the ocean – aside that, in the whole house there is such a deep silence…   originally written in Romanian © 2016 Liliana Negoi

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when it’s too hot at night

the moon slides through our fingers like an old and rusty coin oxidized by dreams and by the sour scent of saliva mixed with the stingy one of the sweat – we weave our touches like a rope with which the sandman could hang himself from the beams of heavens and our eyes hurt stab … Continue reading

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