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Last updated : Friday, 08/27/2010 14:21  


the cobwebs of nothing
accomplice to the brake-up
of hawk bit aureole
the roomy wall for clouds and dust
... I change everything for a spoon
of sand

the cobwebs of nothing
with taste of sleep
the fat and fluffy spiders invent
the past
by the time of its apathy, the quiet tongue of the watch

... I change everything
for a bed with dust



the walls where is beginning
to flows rivers from you
you are my favorite abstract pet
possessed by clear-obscure elephants
witch are trampling my straw drum of the ear

ellipsoidal rivers with sand on the temple
your teats of fresh lemon with the house empty

all day
flowing through my stomach
like a mother wale

by night, on full moon
I crash near to you



wall brake it from the start of the day
gathering together
all the rusty glace of time

the parade is on the cunning march
to the silky aureole symphony
like in a game of abandoned children

hats, glances cling to the girdle
moon hunting the words
and swallowing one after other

in this downy hall without air
the fiddlers with red hair , violently painted,
are counting the money from the straw hat
the fishes are helplessness barking
to three hores from a glass



from the ribs of VERONICA fish
the singers are gathering
to make an white, rusty, glassy and empty

from the first rib they made a cistern
from the second one they made a name
and after this they
throw all the others in a hore house

by the second day
the city was a huge vagina with street lamps



with the night the chain
on the thighs

the speedy spiders with the cry in their neck
travel through the spinal column

one after other with the fleets on the road
it's been close to fifty leaves to pay
I pull over in the heart
and I stay empty as a yellow line



it's like I was singing
at ribs of a wale with
the stomach full of shiny buttons

pulling from invisible wax draughts
with the broken back of
spring nights

I am an paradisiacal snail
picked from the roof of your mouth
I cry after birds
when they die alone
I collect dust and I laugh in nails

on your forehead of a crazy god



purse letter to tuning fork horse
with the head in turkish dome spiraling of hungry

my colored scream is polishing the walls
we start with deceive a great run
to the curled vines
we catch rainbows with tails and
we water them like the quiet egyptians

the first night is needling the sky
by the time the rain was deleted

the abstinence days
eating the legacy of the monk with dalian legs
his bowing bear is full of rooks carefully polish
and every rock witch is Ana
we will throw it after walls to bring us luck

our work in a hurry
our hand raised from the dust from our knees
the cutting heads rolled on unholy lands
the fresque of the lunatic masons
all are gathering together in gutters and flow to the village

and it seems like a page cutted every night
from the preferable fairytale
the candles are making one to each other holly tattoos in all the high days
the dead bees road is the last caravan to The ONE
the shadow of the monastery roofs is flowing to the cemetery pairs of seven wings swallows

on the heal the archangels are beginning to play golf
starting with the first hour of the down

the sharp brushes, Van Gogh and the odour smell of crypt .. baby

wrote at The Horezu Monastery in october 1999

All right reserved ! For any publication, reproduction or any kind of use of this material please contact me !

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Available artworks about KLOSKA Contact the artist KLOSKA's thoughts