Moto:
” A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. ” – Robert Frost
… si, atunci, gandurile mi s-au rasucit in interior, ca niste catuse,
lumea mi-a curs stramb in vene, miere in putrefactie.
mi-am strans calusul gurii pana la sange,
am tuns lanturile prea groase din jurul gleznelor,
mi-am incheiat camasa alba cu maneci prea lungi,
am zambit printre dintii cu sarma ghimpata
si, mult timp, am tacut.
corpul meu e urechea unei cascade
in care tunetele se prabusesc.
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