your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,

reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.

sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.

and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.

I always
smile.

it is
a giving
thing that
you do.

your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.

I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...

you are


where
good  poets
go to
die.

This is it.

Your big moment.
Taking time at these crossroads.
Your decision determining destiny.
A moment all your own, never to be replicated.
skittering circuits buzz, obedient to your commands.
Hours lay ahead of you, stuffed and bulging with the static you will consume.
Channel 2 or channel 4?

This is it.

Your catastrophic downfall.
An outcry was made, now the civility is shattered.
the acquaintances you once held as companions,
may now cut icy glares as the senate did to Caesar.
alarms ring, as you feel reduced in their eyes.
You got the wrong change at the cafe,
so you ask for a fiver.

later on,
your banquet awaits, golden and sunbaked.
stewed for months, in rich and creamy crop of the land.
taking your throne, in the cool shaded flank in your garden of eden.
A cup of soup and a bag of crisps.

these grand odysseys still raise up those same emotional epics,
as moments in youth locked in the past.
like lying on a blanket at the very edge of one of the seven sisters.
alas, you are still perched upon oblivion,
cup of tea in hand.

Happy tithings
Slither your sadness
And madness flies with you
Buzzes through your skull
Dull little headache-
Stop

The sheets are too soft
No one is screaming
walking
moving
Moths eat your town

The mad goat laughs
A wail and a stare
Little red eyes eat you alive

But it's all rather funny
Everyone in black
Weeping souls love
A laughing attack

Fingerprints and fibers,
Accumulated talk,
Whispers in the corners,
Bodies demarcated in chalk
On the marble courtroom stairs.
His misery became a pall.
With mourning signs in splattered pairs,
Red flowers on the wall.

All that he had left behind was grief
And powerless rage,
A Tansu chest in high relief,
A coiled brass clock fatigued with age.

Retreating to a white house in Simrishamn,
He’d walk his dog along the shore,
Find sterile clues amongst the sands,
And travel a ferry between two lands.

And now: An experiment! Blame Google Translate for this weird (?) Swedish translation: Please tell me if this is a bad translation!

Fingeravtryck och fibrer,
Ackumulerat samtal,
Viskar i hörnen,
Kroppar avgränsad i krita
På marmor rättssal trappor.
Hans elände blev en pall.
Med sorgsignaler i splatterade par,
Röda blommor på väggen.

Allt som han hade lämnat var sorg
Och maktlös raseri,
En Tansu bröst i hög lättnad,
En spolad mässingsklocka utmanad med åldern.

Att återvända till ett vitt hus i Simrishamn,
Han skulle gå sin hund längs stranden,
Hitta sterila ledtrådar bland sandarna,