siliste

sare sa-mi cos la loc veninul
cel care-mi scapa din mana
prelins dintr-un cer de minte
c-o pana de functionare
din care se lasa mai jos
agale
parau ghidat de-o stea
ce nu punea in rama
dor si nici
jale
ci c-o aura de stupoare
intr-o punga de hartie
adunam strop cu picatura
fiecare gura de aerisire
prin care mai existam
dincolo de san in acel desert
numit cumva
oricum
doar cu fara
inaintea lui…

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