Bogdan Puslenghea
Unaesthetic gun
It’s morning
Time to sleep
Snooze
Want to to to
Obtain
Discipline
Washed up Friday
Behind
Legions of bullshit
Continue
The charade.
Ten dummies in the dirt
things
impossible things, blissfully frustrating
things that fall together under one quick gaze,
things that redefine themselves
in the mirror of all the arrangements,
things that suck in all known essence
and then just laugh at you.
things that make your dreams numbers,
things that scream for authenticity, in their after night
(things that put people in their places)
places that seem numbers
in an evolutionary scheme,
that also falls in dreams.
succession of things, rapid and untwining,
ordinary things in the right proportion
(are you up for crazy results?)
things as terminal reasons of insistence
through our bright manic photogenic
existence — or, silent orgy with a green
cartoon divinity, or other precious
sound they call, when less is more, enjoy
and ignore — desirable things, night
and day — light’s flashy way to
say: you’re saved today
to date or out of date.
nothing is quite as it seems it is
when you’re a real child,
monster child,
desirable looking child —
lost in things, insanely
mild
watching things through the blind eye
of a drunken
fly
Inside
Outdated. TV lovers. Metapoetry.
What pattern? Laughs. Decorum Apt.
Impossible. Don’t charge. It. Is.
Cream. Fracking. Wash. Anew.
You. There. Strange. Repeat.
Room. Small light. Corner. Pillow.
Interesting. Some distance. Forms.
Pen. Mouth. You. Spitfire.
Round. Torture. Over.
Hang. Curtain. Sound. Head mumble.
Distinct. Trace. Torso. Dumpster.
Fright. Minute. Ding Dong. Plain.
After birth. Eternal. Think.
Eye-brow. Kitsch. Benefit.
Books. No words. No mind. Inside.
Theatre. Images. Feelings. Outdated.
Bogdan Puslenghea is from Timisoara. His work can be found in Otoliths, Degu A Journal of Signs, Truck, International Times, Haggard & Halloo Publications and Caliban online amongst other places.
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Unaesthetic gun
It’s morning
Time to sleep
Snooze
Want to to to
Obtain
Discipline
Washed up Friday
Behind
Legions of bullshit
Continue
The charade.
Ten dummies in the dirt
from oblivion
to nothing to Tell
splendid Splendid
appalling and sexy, a round case
fixed like a statue
an old Logo
What a chill
Naturally.
Your voice
Perfect Pitch
things
impossible things, blissfully frustrating
things that fall together under one quick gaze,
things that redefine themselves
in the mirror of all the arrangements,
things that suck in all known essence
and then just laugh at you.
things that make your dreams numbers,
things that scream for authenticity, in their after night
(things that put people in their places)
places that seem numbers
in an evolutionary scheme,
that also falls in dreams.
succession of things, rapid and untwining,
ordinary things in the right proportion
(are you up for crazy results?)
things as terminal reasons of insistence
through our bright manic photogenic
existence — or, silent orgy with a green
cartoon divinity, or other precious
sound they call, when less is more, enjoy
and ignore — desirable things, night
and day — light’s flashy way to
say: you’re saved today
to date or out of date.
nothing is quite as it seems it is
when you’re a real child,
monster child,
desirable looking child —
lost in things, insanely
mild
watching things through the blind eye
of a drunken
fly
Inside
Outdated. TV lovers. Metapoetry.
What pattern? Laughs. Decorum Apt.
Impossible. Don’t charge. It. Is.
Cream. Fracking. Wash. Anew.
You. There. Strange. Repeat.
Room. Small light. Corner. Pillow.
Interesting. Some distance. Forms.
Pen. Mouth. You. Spitfire.
Round. Torture. Over.
Hang. Curtain. Sound. Head mumble.
Distinct. Trace. Torso. Dumpster.
Fright. Minute. Ding Dong. Plain.
After birth. Eternal. Think.
Eye-brow. Kitsch. Benefit.
Books. No words. No mind. Inside.
Theatre. Images. Feelings. Outdated.
Bogdan Puslenghea is from Timisoara. His work can be found in Otoliths, Degu A Journal of Signs, Truck, International Times, Haggard & Halloo Publications and Caliban online amongst other places.