Being on a slide under the microscope
of some mad scientist too big to comprehend
is not my idea of how things are

But from the point of view of all the microscopic bugs living on or in the Human body I can concede that they may well have this kind of simple understanding of how things are

it doesn't have to mean
anything.
sometimes I just need to
draw something.
something about the way her
hair falls into her face
when she laughs.

something about that crow on
that wire that keeps
yelling my name as if I've
hurt his feelings and he wants me
dead and in Hell.
something about the way I've never
heard anybody say they
love me in her western dialect
before.
I melt whenever she does.
hey, I melted the first time
she said she liked me.

that's all there is to it.
it doesn't have to mean anything.
just like dust, rain, chest pain,
a cracked windshield, a hole in
your sock or a letter from the
taxman.

it's just poetry, mum.
just little
somethings.

His bad knee and my
high blood pressure saw us
ascending  
at a slow pace into the
giant hand of mist, running its
fog fingers between trees and
boulders.

having reached the first level,
we turned and looked as far as
the weather allowed.
it rained sideways, but the ground
held a few degrees below freezing.
trees, plants, stones... all was
covered in a layer of ice,
adding to itself with every drop
frozen.

feeling like Sam and Frodo for a
split second; lost in an alien
landscape.
even the dog sat patiently, shivering
with cold and exhilaration.
Øystein reached down and picked up
a blueberry encapsulated in

the cold, wet matter.
ate it. his dog reacted to the
crunshing sound of consumption.
nah, you wouldn't like this, buddy.
we walked next to the path that
had turned into a slippery death
trap, closing in on the peak.

the wind poked its way through
coats and boots, but we took
shelter beside an ice and snow
covered rock side.
the only people there.  
my best friend leaned back and
closed his eyes.
*wow... listen to the
mountain.

there are still so many million bullets
yet to be fired
my name is surely written on one of them