The Bottle is Cracked by Mr. Horia Alexandru Pop

My Carpathian nose bent on your belly
sniff sniff sniff
reaping the fallen fruits
spread everywhere
on your blossomed skin
rich & fertile valley full of hope & food
for the scoundrel skinny hobo dog
to have a nest
to follow scents from beauty spots
from breast to knees
& turn over
up and down
from neck to toes
sniff sniff sniff
until delirious mad laughter & joy
pop & pour out
mutual moans & rattles

O howling nights of scents & skies & lands of oblivion!

Flies buzzing round my face,
I can’t feel you tonight

My soul is a cracked bottle lying almost empty on a wet red floor next to a stranger to himself

Winter has come
friends have gone
tired of hearing me rattle & moan all alone
but some memories last too long
and I can’t breathe

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Mr. Horia Alexandru Pop used to be an English teacher, a librarian, a factotum for factories and farms, a dishwasher, a translator, and he’s had some other jobs he’s forgotten since. Now that he’s quit his job, he travels and tries to meet as many persons, from as many different horizons as possible to live, love and write on it.