A M Laursen

A M Laursen Feb 2021

he was born
on a bus, and did his hair
in the bus seat window
looking at him from all of the sides was
the world
at large, moving fast
around him
it is not lost on me
he saw the world three
sixty degrees, that was how his world was built
he saw two opposing sides to everything
he never wore the seat belt, so it would just be hanging there
he took his fate however it may come, he said
he realized by seeing everything from every possible
perspective
that nothing really was
an elderly woman touches his shoulder
seeing his misery shoot out the window
but he is already so far away

#freeverse

A M Laursen Feb 2021

cease of sense

drinking brandy and listening to the walls
they scream
a lot is happening, but no one notices
well I notice, I am here
and I’m listening closely to the silence
it feels like something is about to make
abrupt
pounding three beers and adjusting the volume
I don’t see what else
with everything so intricate
I miss walking in my hometown without sidewalks
the trees slouching from the weight of the rain
waiting for it to drop to the ground
I walk with my shoulders slightly arched
in case it happens, you know?

#freeverse

A M Laursen Feb 2021

arms akimbo

We cleaned it out
Swept the floors and threw it out by the gate
We cleaned the crates, hosed and scrubbed them lightly
Left them to bake in the afternoon, I wake
them, the colors that is, and they are beautiful to me
I showed you greyish green and blunt yellow
It was all too much I know, I see that now
We had a few minutes to spare, I looked up and skies hurt my eyes for while
They seemed provident, I guess it’s all worth it
I don’t know which ones you saw
I thought of adventures taking place far away
The freshwater museum looking like an abandoned lodge
I wonder, all those fish still hanging there, glass eyes telling us our time nigh
But I’m sure I saw them swimming, someday
I’m gonna’ try that myself.
We stood arms akimbo
We said nothing
and I’m still not going to

#freeverse

A M Laursen Feb 2021

bejeweled

I can’t kick this feeling of time
now that everything has got me blinded
c’est la vie is the line
when I feel the weight of the world
all overhead
yet you bear these stones
like I’ve never seen anyone do
ever before
oh mama don’t cut my hands
I’m outside for all the right reasons
like the flow of the sands
when I feel the weight of the world
all around
treading lightly and walking slow, and then, faster
like watching the city go to sleep and then wake up
only to start daydreaming, falling

A M Laursen Feb 2021

of the brand of the golden tiger

I died slowly on the streets of Beijing
driving a pedicab for fourteen hours straight
my cigarettes fell from the chest pocket of my grey, black-striped corduroy shirt
sleeves rolled halfway up, hanging just underneath my ever-arching elbows
they were of the brand of the golden tiger, with golden tips to bring to your lips.
they will find my work in my room, someday it will be known
I greet the tiger as we lie on the ground all gravel, litter, people gathering
he holds the same magnificent stance as always
before we go, let me know
how do you do what you do

#freeverse

A M Laursen Feb 2021

one of several beginnings

It’s a morning like no other
Cold coffee smelling up the streets
Commuters smelling up the streets
There’s dew on both sides of the glass and with the way we are working
it’s bound to get even crazier than that
The bus went by, but only on the wheels on its right side, tilted, bicycles advancing under it,
pedestrians making a run for it – hoping to cut a few minutes of their load, heavy, heavy
on their backs
I found myself limping as I came across sights of vigor
These mornings leave you feeling dry on the inside if you are prone.
I saw him on the roof, king of the morning, reveling in the cold wind,
He knows just why this morning is like no other
Let me know
Dressed in white with a beak for every occasion, if only I could take note
I was thinking about what might be going through his mind
I wondered what went through mine

A M Laursen Feb 2021

Through The Maze

Listening to the electric lights
Spread out over the passage
Just listen
A lamp every tenth step or so
Hollowed out concrete serves as a mode
of transport – through
What awaits in the next space between the lights
The passage jet black
What awaits in the next one
In the moment equally far from either light
Yet another trip, another adventure
Let it be a good one, I say
Let it be a good one, unlike the others