Museum Of Poetry

Museum Of PoetryMuseum Of PoetryMuseum Of Poetry

Museum Of Poetry

Museum Of PoetryMuseum Of PoetryMuseum Of Poetry
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In Our Building

In our building

The mad women are laughing hysterically

During the night

The walls become candy cotton materials

And their laughter, the laughter of the mad women whom lost themselves in apocalyptic revelry

Reaches all the eardrums this way

In our building

The ideas vanish

They are absorbed by the doubled walls

With their new fucsia coating

The warmth stagnates stopping all the muses from frotting

On their skin only the silence is sliding

In our building the hysterical laughter is forbiden

They fill your mouth with candy cotton

They boil you in your own ideas

The yawning is the new virus this season

And the dumbness penetrates the sewage pipes

My dog doesn't bark or shed hair

And if you cuddle her you will feel the muses clinging to her fur as in a refuge

Some kind of extaz at some point

I suspect this four-legged being of a cunning shrewdness for some time now

She cast away all the fairies, ghosts and muses with a single bark

She cleaned out the house for the spring

I was left with tones of glass wool in my eardrums

Dumb and obese

Chasing my own tail


 lulia Gherghei 

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