marți, 10 mai 2011

My devotion to separateness

Nobody ever says don’t leave me or stay with me
or come back
what they say is I am alone be guilty for my loneliness
take the hammer of my consciousness and smash it to the bricks
I’ve so carefully aligned to build my house
this house is my devotion to separateness

in my house children grow backwards their hair grows inside their scalps
their arms grow in their lungs and their hearts grow in their brains
children of Mary Magdalene

and they eat at my table rabbit meat and pigeon meat while a well appointed
pianist plays the dissolution of trees and psychedelic livers
and the jostling of fluids in the atmosphere is creamier than any
and the piano is a pink piano made of pink wood from pink trees from pink forests
where the mystic river runs

my house is outside space just like rainbows
and as I live in my house I fill its little cracks with algae
and mermaid tails no hurricane will destroy it
I am not biological I do not posses
I walk alone in the valley of serene disappearances
this is the last time I touch your body with mine

miercuri, 2 februarie 2011

Eveniment - 'Inima tuturor lucrurilor'

Time 10 February at 09:00 - 28 February at 23:30


Location Bistro de l'Arte, Brasov


Created by: Bistro de l'Arte

Volumul de poezii "Inima tuturor lucrurilor" a aparut in anul 2009 la editura Brumar sub semnatura unei tinerei poete române care este cunoscuta sub pseudonimul Michel Martin. Volumele de poezie se vor afla in Bistro de l'Arte pana la sfarsitul lunii februarie si vor fi oferite gratuit clientilor amatori de versuri si cultura, în limita stocului disponibil.

Asa cum spunea doamna Ruxandra Cesereanu " 'Inima tuturor lucrurilor' nu este facuta pentru un cititor lenes, nici pentru unul cu tabuu-uri. Este exclusiv pentru cititori exotici, in caz ca mai exista asa ceva."
Autoarea va fi prezenta in Bistro de l'Arte sâmbata 12 februarie, de la ora 13:00

duminică, 9 ianuarie 2011


Who is this woman who talks to me
Dressed in black
Wearing my jewellery

People write about vegetables and pelvises
People write about the death of their children
And the crimes they’ve committed

There’s a gender error sitting on my porch
Looking me in the eye
Holly ghost, the torch of my loins

People write about their childhood and senility
People write about fucking their mums

They couldn’t find my corpse lying on the bathroom floor
People write about suicides and gas
People write letters of condolence

Like there’s no antidote for wisdom
Ants crawling on my dissected brain
And dreams rejected like bad ovaries
People write about fear and kitchen sinks
People write about life and love

Who is this woman who talks to me
Dressed in black
Wearing my intestines around her neck

People write about flamingo birds
And their coral feathers
I’m nowhere to be found man without bird
Woman without spine
Closed up