let me revise: I take propolis tincture for my bronchitis
coughing is a form of expectorating the death
I intoxicate myself with every night; what else is sleep, I say
I who only drink plain water
in the morning I sober up and go to work
among books always thrown on the floor face-down
as if praying for my end to near
it’s a little drafty in-between my bones, but it doesn’t matter anymore
my soft stride raises but a shadow of dust
you pull over my soul to tell me something unheard of
unaware that life goes out right when you light it up
you fearfully turn on the switch and the light shivers around you
enough to suddenly make you thirsty for reading/ then you feel a little sick
and ask to be left alone by all the things you fight with
over your unique love that sparks more and more
(poem published in the volume "catacombe. aici totul e viu" ("catacombs. everything is alive here"), Vinea Publishing House, Bucharest, 2008, p. 77. English translation: Simona Sumanaru.)
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