From the acoustics of your palms

To my life line

We should pitter-patter into synchronicity.

From the elongations of your recoils

To my life line

We should wish at least one nonlocality into continuance.

From the dead stops of your susurrations

To my life line

We should ridicule our circadian cosmopolitan cataracts.

For there is blindness fattening up our chance encounters.

We name all the other silhouettes with touched off uptightness and

We name our other selves with the selflessness of our off-putting otherness and

We name names.

And those names beget the off-putting otherness we crave

When we crave for life lines

When we dismiss love lines

When we line up loves and lives and lies

When we stack up loves and lives and lies

When we synchronize loves and lives and lies

Until only one – abstract, lyrical – bone-dried lie

Rubbernecks at the Chroma that makes it easier

For us to love to

Make it easier

For our love of

Us to duplicate

The low of

Our love for

The whisperers

That lie to us.



Visuals: Alexandru Crisan, Writings: C.StDinulescu.

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