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Since the last morning of mine I gave you

Οι ωραίες παλιότερές μου μέρες

δε θα'ρθουν να με ξαναδούν;
Τουλάχιστο ας μου στείλουν τα χαιρέτια τους
που αργοπεθαίνω από τη θλίψη.


Ardor et glaudium

I flow inside you
as your own blood.

Yielding back to this authentic state of stand
as I reminisce,
kermes edges of the fingers
they almost glow
over the phosphatide eolienne.

A body ebbs,
down the stairs of my house
now getting tart as the floor.

Terrene nights
squashing the same sheet;
crackling constellations,
I did promise that I'd capture Canis Minor
for you.

As loyal
as abiding,
then quench its hunger
with my cortex.

As static
as gentle,
I will blear till it's all arid
and washed out.


Has it ever crossed your mind
that this is just where you might end?

That the last steps you take
could be where you took your first?

That the nights you spent forgetting
about which city you were in
that they could be as bright as your memories

will ever get?

Muting the lingering death

Soft guns, the hardest rainfalls
and the thousand drops
kind needles on the skin

but nothing like a full turn
only a trembling agony, a slight sound

every delicate movement shatters
inside the middle ear. The eardrums
remain completely still: this
is the best of pains.

Ab imo pectore

Loud sympathetic tone, vague mathematical immorality. I've been forgetting about the cloudy evenings. Now they are gleaming in the light of the fading summer.


Little monsters, inside the heart- sugarwhite areas of their bodies, bright red, on the valves. Warm, pulsating. A subfrequency that resides between the fingers of the beats. Swelling waters, drowning the cornea.

A sunset sky outspread on the smooth cringing surface. Yes, it burns; it's blindingly loud; it's striking the arteries, the veins, the concrete bones in the core of the double steps, it hurts. So, this infective organ hidden in the thorax, it dies out in the ague.

Pleasant is the sin of generalization

Η δυστυχία των γυναικών οικοδομείται τη στιγμή της άνθισης, εννοώ την παιδική ηλικία. Γιατί οι γυναίκες, το ξέρετε καλύτερα από μένα, δε φτάνουν ποτέ στην ευτυχία. Φτάνουν, ναι, σ'αυτό το απαραίτητο κουράγιο που χρειάζεται για να υποκρίνονται οτι είναι ευτυχισμένες, ποτέ στην ίδια την ευτυχία.

The silent glance of Andromeda

A glance of despair; she is made of the wrong material. There's a frighteningly oppressive natural mistake in her chromosomes. She keeps subsiding in silence.