I want a lilith of my own to write me with her sharp eyes beyond words a shadow with no confusable name which sleeps in sarcophagi at day and enters me at night through the secret door the secret
we have cut our wings with the teeth untouched by earth of ancestors
we have remained empty skulls waiting for autumn on the branch of the tree of genesis from which we know ourselves of good and
I remember,
morning was breaking into thousands of pieces
by my temple...
There was a season
in which it should\'ve been snowing in souls,
but all there was on the streets was filthy
everything seemed clearer with eyes shut,
on the back seat, leaning on my hood
\"you\'re in the army now... stand up and fight\"
censor me Mr Pruteanu
\"for whatever that means\".
even if
That morning,
I tied the butterflies to the ark
And reddened my beard,
To be able to speak about the lurid land
In which I had been exiled
Two semesters per year;
As many years
As the lashes I
A