Writing

there is swinging between languages. to and fro… to and fro…

there is swinging between chores… needs… things to still be done, learned, written, seen, imagined…

there is a huge lack of imagination. a stop, somehow.

i read through cartarescu’s book ‘orbitor’ and wondered at what a poet can write. because this whole book is an extended poem. a huge poem. and it’s in romanian.