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There are no better words than those which are heard.

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Holding Hands

Come with me I know precisely
Which direction to go I said laughing
Face to face with the unspoken word.
Never afraid to fight you,
Never stopped building the new language
Only for us.

I put on my best dress
I killed everyone around
Just for a moment of solitude with you.

Come, I said, but do not look at me,
Like I at you.
The new vocabulary can now describe with easiness
The true detail of this abandoned land
On which we slowly walk through the mud
Holding hands.

And for a while there was an echo.

The word, however, did not reply
The word kept still
And winked at me before
It jumped off the bridge.

On the Way to Antarctica

I do not know why the invisible angel came to me.
I did not change the colour of my hair
Nor my skin, the very flesh, the way I walked
I did not even speak to anyone
On my way to Antarctica.
But still, to my surprise, the angel stopped
And took a bite of me
Like he would bite a silent piece of fruit.
Since then, I keep looking at my imperfect face
And touch the scar.
I cannot breathe.
No blood, nothing but unblemished words
Fill my new white prison.

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Painting: Manuell Manastireanu, ‘To Be’, acrylics on cardboard