I said fate plays a game without a
score,
And who needs fish if you’ve got
caviar?
The triumph of the Gothic style would
come to pass
And turn you on – no need for coke,
or grass.
I sit by the window, outside, an
aspen.
When I loved, I loved deeply.
It wasn’t often.
I said the forest’s only part of a
tree.
Who needs the whole girl if you’ve
got her knee?
Sick of the dust raised by the modern
era,
The Russian eye would rest on and
Estonian spire.
I sit by the window.
The dishes are done.
I was happy here. But I won’t be
again.
I wrote: The bulb looks at the flower
in fear,
And love, as an act, lacks a verb;
the zer –
O Euclid thought the vanishing point
became wasn’t math –
It was the nothingness of time.
I sit by the window.
And while I sit
My youth comes back.
Sometimes I’d smile. Or spit
I said that the leaf may destroy the
bud;
What’s the fertile falls is fallow
soil – a dud;
That on the flat field, the
unshadowed plain
Nature spills the seeds of trees in
vain.
I sit by the window.
Hands lock my knees.
My heavy shadow’s my squat company.
My song was out of tune
My voice was cracked,
But at least no chorus can ever sing
it back.
That talk like this reaps no reward
bewilders
No one – no one’s legs rest on my
shoulders.
I sit by the window in the dark.
Like an express, the waves behind the
wavelike curtain crash.
A loyal subject of these second –
rate years.
I proudly admit that my finest ideas
are second – rate,
And may the future take them
As trophies of my struggle against
suffocation.
I sit in the dark. And it would be
hard to figure out.
Which is worse; the dark inside,
Or the darkness out.
God Bless Us..
cabreraflorina.blogspot.com
ios.florinac@gmail.com
