Cristina Musat Poems

The inner living sum roams
within the places that I pass
and the faces which I match
to the unknown
...

It was spinning that I did.
Trying to enchant myself
and transfigure,
to become.
...

Boughs of dead tree tops

Scraping silent winter skies –
...

You struck your palm illegally upon the fog-milked glass:

Brutish, instinctual, no real reason:
...

GOT UP.

After drinking some of my so-to-say Victoria coffee, just spent some time with my folks. Deceiving. Inside only; pass the butter, see what this lemon here does for the papadie tea? Oh yea, not a bit of sourness. Great meal. Better than those omelets, had some eggs yesterday.
...

Cherishing the outside
never revering;
No loss.
Until the inside
...

They’re like webs, you know.
Massive webs of light –
pulsating, vibrating electrically;
Short-circuiting my vision, entrapped, enchanted,
...