The crane turns
Sunlight blinds me
Like you did

I haven't seen shade
Since our eyes first met

The layer of gray water
On the surface of
This fresh concrete

Is as smooth as the skin
On your shoulders

When you undressed
Before me
And the moonlight threw a

Living
Breathing
Cliché
Over us

The sound of machines
Turning off for the day
Gives a silent vacuum

Within which I meditate
Over the beauty even a
Construction site holds when its
Things remind me

Of you

What a cheerful world
Mine has become
Since I started forcing myself

To smile when my alarm
Goes off

Every
Single
Morning

It takes less
And less
Force

Sverre's morning-affirmation


I soar above my own boundless
Imagination
Looking down onto areas I visited
In dreams from as long ago
As my faintest childhood

I remember everything
This is myself seeing the
Sense in it all
It *all

I am large enough to eat
Universes
Strong enough to rip black holes
In the fabric of time and space
I laugh with the gods

I am the only
Border
I own the edge of everything
I am innermost and outermost

I know not how to
Talk down to
Myself

In all I see
In this world
I see me

I woke up 35 today.
Thought it wouldn't feel
Any different from 34, but
This time...

I'll buy an extra few flowers
For my mother.
It's her day too.

I'll buy my dad a cigar and a
Cold one.
For all the gray hairs.

I'll thank my brother for
Being
Just that
For 33 years,

And my girlfriend for not
Minding what we
Both think
Might be the earliest whiffs
Of an 'old-man-smell'
On me.

It's the first rainy day in weeks.
I'll have a
Few beers too many tonight,
And just stand in the downpour.
I'm an adult now; I don't
Have to wear a raincoat.

It's my party and I'll
Laugh hysterically

If I want to.

Blue sky lightning bolt.
This is not a sunburn.

Struck to the Ground of
Gratitude by the merciless

Fist of serendipity as I toss the
Puzzle in the air and watch the

Pieces land perfectly in place.
Knowing lightning won't hit twice

I stand back mindblown and blissful.
For the first time in so long

The Man Upstairs and I speak
The same language.

There's listening to be done
On both sides.

Half full.
Half empty.

Thank God
For this

Glass.

First draft.*


My mind is a garden
Overgrown.
Flowers give way to weeds.
I used to enter to relax,  

Now I leave it to.
My mind is a government
Overthrown.
Chaos reigns; more injustice

Now, in the wake of anarchy,
Than prior to revolution.
My mind is a page of my person
Overturned.

I change. Gardens become
Woods. Cities pastures.
Poets dead people.  
My mind is a garden
Overgrown.

To be kind and patient.
To see the child within
The heart behind a thoughtless
Mouth, and count to ten.
Treat it as such.
Be biggest.
King.  

To let the lashes heal hidden
Under a heavy cape
And not mention your pain.
Judge only
Those in need of judgement;
Leave the rest
To play.
King.

To ride into battle first; sword
Raised to an enemy campaign
And hurt only foes
With steel as wide as
The history of your beloved
Land. Win.
King.

To only wear your crown
Ceremonially.
All other days a monk; humbly
Uncovered beneath
The eyes of God.
King.

I look for repetition in my
Poetry  
Run my hands through
Months of whittling and
Fitting
Words into figurines to
Detect

Boredom by border between
Own style and
Self-copying crossed
I find

The strongest move
I can make
Is to keep writing
However the Hell I
Want.

I'll never forget her face.
Our eyes met; both had butterflies
In our stomachs that had
Butterflies in theirs.

Teenage features made
My eyes softer from
Touching them with vision.  
Smiling with every inch of

Herself; slightly protruding
Canines gave her a sense of
Wildness. An insanely
Beautiful wolf.

Mouth slightly open in
Centre at default.
Those lips that women botox
Themselves to achieve.  

Angelina Jolie's half-sister's face.
I became a slightly different man
Then.
Like after a near-death-experience.

After three and a half years together
She still blows my mind.
I can watch her from a distance, and
Contemplate the way her skin seems

So thin over her collar bone that
You wouldn't dare even kiss it
If you could. That, and how I rest my
Face there every evening and thank

Whomever it May Concern
For it all.
I am a man with hungry eyes and
Hands.

Beauty is my ******.
My own strengthening, inspiring,
Comforting -every-day-Heaven-
******.

I have a black cat.
She crosses the dirt road in front
Of me, every morning.

I should be dead by now.

Your legs slightly bruised
From twigs and tall grass
Belong in my lap

Where you wiggle your toes
With excitement
Over cold, sweet fruit salad

And the purples and crimson
Of sun-now-down
That evade the lens of your

iPhone through the window.
What? you ask half
Laughing at my smile.

It feels like before, I'm
Tempted to say. *I have nothing
More, Your Honour.