~Victoria Milescu: “Poems”
MERLIN’S TOWN
The town fades away
in the driving mirror –
dogs and birds
abandoning their cartridge box.
It’s misty. Nudes with edelweiss armlets
watch over the varnishing
tank cars have dissolved the bas-reliefs
on the sacred radome.
We sit on the side of the artesian well
ejecting in the air
champagne tachyons,
your beret over your eyes
and long term tins
sharing out to the suspects…
The town is a purgatory,
a sulphur spiral
a large-scale, magic sleep extends its liquid
tentacles
to the weeping willows
on the shore of Styx…
A glass in their hand
and sipping
the maestros of the genre
leave us
after the second half
for
the golden box
of joy of living.
We want to reach
the long eternity of morrow
scan in corpore
growling then, enthusiastically,
the Toreador’s aria…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TELECAST MURDER
Towels, undershits, hanlies
circulated around us
on the copper wire of sight
centrifuged…
we stopped at the crossroads
to telecast the murder
we were challenged
under the beaconage. We were waiting.
Who’ll be the first
to throw
the blood ball
of the stellate heart
and Ether to step in?
(But Ether was on a trip to the Antiles)
There are a lot like me
you murmur by telepaty
when you’re doing that thing
near the radar, mutilated
though it’s against my wish, my friend
you are the sacrifice lamb, as they say
our ship is drunk
and with no skipper, yet!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
WINGS FOR ANGELS
Our most refined death
comes from Bagdad
let’s extend it a heartly welcome!
At dawn, hundreds of bodies,
of eyes,
of mouths
of cannons
broke their ranks
under LES FLEURS DE MAL
carried away by the mirage…
Desperately I was clutching
my new identity
dropping at corner
my old, registered coat.
They have invited me under the chronometer:
murder or self-murder
in mass-media
the magus inquired when
he pinned
the badge
on our bare chests!
Naïveté was present, too
sponte sua
riddling some well armed Flemish visions
then, the nomenclatura of the clasics
with their solid armour…
Give a fulcrum
to the hypnosis on land!
A mask for Goya!
A TAB for Rembrandt!
On guard there are:
Lie and Untruth
With silence’s referendum
in the barrels
They’ve locked the Crystal Palace
and opened Labyrinth!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SPARROWS UNDER CYTOTOXIC DRUGS
I caress his hands in gloves
though he is not mine
I lay my head on his chest
I cover his bruised shoulders
with my white wings
I kiss him in everybody’s sight
though he is not mine
I keep him away
from your stones
and his eyes caress me lovingly
though he is not mine
we pass embosomed
through the Moon’s riddled lungs
since a boy carries a machine-gun.
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