Phantasrealismus

Only the noise of my steps,
falling in the mist of the night,
shy under the petals of the Universe
Moon is the female hunting
the lions in a desert of peace

Fingers stealing the notes from a song
found in the dark of Bourbon Street

The pale light above my see-through back
shines the heart beating, in the blood of the sound,
born from a rose and a guitar
I dance with the stars, I sing with the wind,
I step where the track follows
the instinct;
I jump to the moon in a vibration of
my own body, drawn in the smoke
from the sand of my feet –
for her smooth face poisoning my sight
will cry a tear of passion to swallow

…while there’s Moon over Bourbon Street!!!

© Marius Surleac

© Marius Surleac

Photo’s source: http://www.pianoguitar.co.uk/django.htm

the monk softly touches a dusty piano
no chords around but all in one

he’s a sort of big brother
with Charlie “the bird”

the rhythm shakes our heads dramatically fast
and he hits with the wooden-like foot
the frightened floor

the hip manner shows a heart pumping the jazz
instead of the viscous blood
up to the hat

bebop is home again
but now it wears a hard rusty coat

© Marius Surleac

Photo’s source: www.collectionscanada.gc.ca

My

faith?

Do I
dream of

the grand words
ever told
by the scrolls?

Why do I dare to
hear the rumours found
in the hall of time –
where seconds have died
in vacuum’s rebirth?

Hope that someday we’ll find under
the seekings, the pieces from the
enormous puzzle we ever
dreamed to solve … to break it’s harsh chains
Hope that someday we’ll find the truth,
diluted through centuries of
history and people, that died
beneath their dreams and desires …

Even so, no answers will be found; nor dreams will break

the chest – where just words and tracks rest down, beyond the performers that reached closer to God

© Marius Surleac

my blue dog walks through Alexanderplatz with his
anarchist wife … born poodle
they eat currywurst and drink weißbier
and then watch from the top of the television tower
how a red balloon spreads all over the square
boxes with Schrödinger’s cat

*

they put aside a bold bluff for the DPP squad
and ran with the chips

*

hot rain left behind barmy cats playing
on the greenish meadow with
bipolar mice

wheels spin in the haze

© Marius Surleac

voice wearing a cash coat white footsteps built on spherical notes sky drove them towards blue magic sea into the winter like a summer within the beat of the drums leaf skydives away on the top of the electrified hair a smile gets closer and flies away like a dove to the clouds alone near the radio near the field beneath the hat of a huge mushroom sucking the venom of our delighted ears

© Marius Surleac

Picture: © Cathrine Wessel

your lips will steal my naked words
when skin to skin our bodies waste
a drop of blood carried by swords
like cross to death we had to taste

© Marius Surleac

no leaf today, no white limb broke
when smell of shelves like firewood
grew up a man within a stroke
from heart away to backbones’ hood

© Marius Surleac

Jack, help me
bring me a spade, an anchor
and ropes

a pollen geyser will erupt
from this flower

kick my ass
until I won’t remain outwardly

fingers try to touch her
outlining words

rejected at first
contact

now accepted

gallantly through lips
effused

© Marius Surleac