Bogdan Puslenghea

Unaesthetic gun

It’s morning
Time to sleep
Want to to to
Washed up Friday
Legions of bullshit
The charade.

Ten dummies in the dirt

                                            from oblivion
                                                  to nothing to Tell
                                                  splendid Splendid
                                           appalling and sexy, a round case
                                                                fixed like a statue
                                                                       an old Logo
                                                                 What a chill
                                                             Your voice
                                                               Perfect Pitch


impossible things, blissfully frustrating
things that fall together under one quick gaze,
things that redefine themselves
in the mirror of all the arrangements,
things that suck in all known essence
and then just laugh at you.
things that make your dreams numbers,
things that scream for authenticity, in their after night
(things that put people in their places)
places that seem numbers
in an evolutionary scheme,
that also falls in dreams.

succession of things, rapid and untwining,
ordinary things in the right proportion
(are you up for crazy results?)

things as terminal reasons of insistence
through our bright manic photogenic
existence — or, silent orgy with a green
cartoon divinity, or other precious
sound they call, when less is more, enjoy
and ignore — desirable things, night
and day — light’s flashy way to
say: you’re saved today

to date or out of date.

nothing is quite as it seems it is
when you’re a real child,
monster child,
desirable looking child —
lost in things, insanely

watching things through the blind eye
of a drunken


Outdated. TV lovers. Metapoetry.
What pattern? Laughs. Decorum Apt.
Impossible. Don’t charge. It. Is.
Cream. Fracking. Wash. Anew.
You. There. Strange. Repeat.
Room. Small light. Corner. Pillow.
Interesting. Some distance. Forms.
Pen. Mouth. You. Spitfire.
Round. Torture. Over.
Hang. Curtain. Sound. Head mumble.
Distinct. Trace. Torso. Dumpster.
Fright. Minute. Ding Dong. Plain.
After birth. Eternal. Think.
Eye-brow. Kitsch. Benefit.
Books. No words. No mind. Inside.
Theatre. Images. Feelings. Outdated.

Bogdan Puslenghea is from Timisoara. His work can be found in Otoliths, Degu A Journal of Signs, Truck, International Times, Haggard & Halloo Publications and Caliban online amongst other places.
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