Niko Tiliopoulos Poems

My memories?
Oriental spicy dishes
on the diet of my mind.
...

In a Roman agora
I once bought felicity
for thirty-eight camels
and an ounce of salt.
...

This time my eyes saw what I did.
I stole this too, but nobody noticed.
I recalled Ginsberg telling me:
...

I wish I were a blackbird;
singing to the shadows and the smell of fire,
hiding in the foliage from my own fear.
...

The eyes of the squirrel were creepy and red,
but they held no mystery inside their coloured iris,
no evil haunted their look,
no anger poisoned their vibrations.
...

The other night
I went to that bar,
on Obispo Calle,
in Havana
...

by the seaweed,
as it danced its grace
with the music of the anemones
in the wise waters of the Mediterranean sea.
...

I don’t remember being born
but I remember dying.

It was Tuesday
...

The highway was wet
and endless,
with its lights sick,
painting the asphalt pale.
...

'My world is just a tiny fractal'
cried the seagull,
but to my mind, that was illegal.
...