Niko Tiliopoulos Poems

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.
...

In the pitiful corridors
for years I was looking for myself,
the punk, the drunk,
the thirsty poet.
...

Keep the smack in the tie rack,
warm the uzi in the jacuzzi,
put on your funky shoes, drink your bootleg booze,
have a rush when some skulls you crush,
...

Her shadow passed in front of my eyes
for a while
I resonated with her
and I felt her crying:
...

The veils of the night
covered my sundries eyes
and I felt my nose running
from the allergy of the spring
...