She’s married she’s square and very slutty in her
               fantasies she’s breathing death instead of air words
               sprung from her mouth like smiling butterflies noises
               circled around zero degree earrings she’s on the road
               she thinks she has
               to be moving she’s on the road
               not on some kind of literary well
               tournament velocity is of less importance
               the scenery remains the same every time

barbaricco allure
               Just to keep track she’d say a lot of weird stuff:
—U look like (Richard) hell
               please let me kill you
               ‘cause you were a coward
               from the get-go…
—and she’d quote lines like • science runs through us
               making us Gods what am I? I’m a murderer •

she’d go down to the Zen Dandies
               and she’d laugh herself out
               The future is still hours
               she suffers she believes she’s filled
               with hope and patience and old charity.

I won’t know if she’s really square.
I think she’s lost like miss Liberty through waves of indecision
Or like M.Monroe in an warholian repetition
Or maybe like a tipped coin in a big pocket

in the movie the elevator man says his job has its
ups and downs

You have to believe me,
Are saying
her belladonna eyes, reaching the limits of
The city of women

Bogdan Puslenghea
Pic: Claire Palmer

Bogdan Puslenghea lives in the western part of Romania in the city of Timisoara (the city of revolution, still a free city on his mind map) and studied philosophy at the local university.


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