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reflections on belonging

a palmers chronicle right bw

Graphic Novels

Photo by Simona Aginskaitė
driving back from the funeral, I understand
my father’s suit is worn, and will fade away

then, it’ll fit me just right

Poems form the poetry collection “Common Wheel”

Authors archive photo
I am like an extended accent
along the shore of the Eastern lake
overgrown with grasses,
choking on consonants of mollusks

Poems from the poetry book “Pericón”

Photo by Dainius Dirgėla
but I would have liked to ask
what signs, what meanings (where)
were left in the material beyond bounds?
What kind of place (white like spring?)
is the earth of our misunderstanding?

Poems form the poetry collection “Ruptured Moonlight”

Photo by Rolandas Pocius
I have come too far:
strange birds
strange trees

Poems from poetry book “Teacher Teaching Death”

Photo by Anton Lukoszevieze
Tell me something, December,
You have been here before.
The teeth of the tiger
Got you back.

Photo by Dainius Dirgėla
                                               ...if tomorrow
there is war my armor will shine and i’ll think
back to what the buddha once said:
if you managed to come into this world
you’ll know how to leave it as well

Poems from the poetry book “Not Even”

i would travel, always travel,
on high crystal scaffolds
through fields of metaphor

Poetry from the book “Fragile Things”

Dainius Dirgėla and his Inner Woman. The sculpture of Mykolas Sauka, 2017
in the end least some poetry will remain
about the past twenty years about chemistry and physics
which once upon a time worked quite naturally but now nonono

Poems from poetry collection „The Book of Roles“

Photo by
poetry can’t replace
the body’s sensual intimacy
and yellow blossoms swallowed
in the blink of an eye

Poems from the book “The Iron Weathervane”

Photo by Benediktas Januševičius
Nature knows no zero.
It’s just a hole in our time
Through which the cold continuously flows
Together with loneliness and fear.

Photo by Severina Venckutė
                    This is where
the world’s rusty wheels moan,
exuding the scents of burnt oil,
gunpowder, blood, and musk.


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