CRISTI SUCIU

plouă-n amurg,
e mîzgă pe drum
e plin de țigani,
petarde și tîrfe boite,
totu-i din China
și scump – e crăciun,
schimb de arginți
între hiene și vite.

My TV’s breaking news into gibberish pieces
small enough to feed my Facebook walls
and my own ivory ribs beneath the Like button.

I’ve never been lost. Never will.
This IS life, I’m bragging to myself.

The blue eyes of the girl across the street
jumping on her old trampoline
turned into hollow, transparent incisions.

To see the world
through the eyes of an idiot child.

It’s still alright. All the newspapers sell
sensational naked, skinless blank pages,
hence no missing headers or titles.

I know I’ll have a clear blue-eyed life
and never again will trust misleading titles.

These tiny grey robots are buzzy and warm
and artfully crafted into even tinier human beings,
over seven billion pieces make up the swarm
that needs food on the go. In seconds, not minutes.

McDonald’s feeds this entire sea of tiny tin men
in a single wink and also supplies replacement parts
as few always get squashed over burgers and Zen.
It’s hard playing darts against Kevlar glazed hearts.