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 tonight autumn dropped by
and all the virgins in the land locked up
in the consciousness of a depressive present
you, my princess, are to blame for the rain in my nights
for the wind scattering my fairies among dreams and
you may give up words and that red ink
sharpen your claws on someone else's soul only today
as I have asked you to leave before dawn
I now shall never know your first name;
you all take advantage of the monotony of my silence
to kidnap for yourselves my poem-thoughts
look, I can still torture the paper if
I rummage myself, in memory of the crow-counter
condition "without qua niet" of the inspiration
suspended somewhere among the last negative storeys
built between thoughts of you and sea level.
the cover of the "you two" tape forces me to stop
and that black fog I've already told you of
a thousand years ago, my shadow.