crow(s)ing

 

are these little pinches I’m feeling on my tongue spanning words
from a bubble burst & garlic flavour part of a serial of suicides?

pain crushes me to the ground takes lilliputian steps away
repeating your curses not as delicate as when we were two
skinless birds

I lay here buck naked pushing my right arm to the pole
nobody gives me a hand nobody covers my back

it’s minus 5ºC above me and a bit more below when
nobody walks I hear my bones growing like a snail
making his way through the tissue

crows get close to my face sing dreadful requiems &
hit with their shiny beaks my asphalt mirrored eye

I feel little earthquakes as they get increasingly close
resonate with my heart levitate with my soul’s thin air

far away is you riding an elephant to
the black clouds furnacing on heaven

 

 

 

***

 

 

Marius Surleac was born in Vaslui, Romania. He is a physicist and doing a PhD in Bioinformatics.  He publishes poetry in journals like Pif Magazine, Bare Fiction, 94 Creations (forthcoming in 2014), Dear Sir, Mad Swirl, Poetry Super Highway and others. He published his first poetry book called Zeppelin Jack at Herg Benet publishing house, in 2011. His Romanian translation of The Propaganda Factory, or Speaking of Trees by Marc Vincenz, will be published in bilingual form at Adenium publishing house, in 2014.

Tagged with →  
Share →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>