Dinu Flamand - ANAEROBIC

I would say "non possumus" realizing as well
how these words head towards a dangerous dark
rolling under night’s waterline

it is so

hard for me even
to understand
their certainty they seem to advance in


as if the dead were gossiping about me
absorbing through their nostrils
their long line of cocaine

they have the motions of whitish
larvae stirred up suddenly in cave lakes

they can’t see the the light

they live in the depths
without asking for the diver’s torch
in perfect symbiosis with nonrevelation …

is poetry anaerobic?

Translated by Olga Dunca