Gasping for air like fish
freshly landed
we hit the refresh button
desperately
but we have lost all
connectivity
to the sea
we no longer exist

He was just an internet friend
they are not real
they said half joking
to offer some comfort
when he left

He was just an internet friend
I never got to meet him
although we planned to
we were trying to make it real
before he left

He was just an internet friend
they shook their heads
when I spoke of him as if
we had been really close
until he left

He was just an internet friend
but I miss him just as much
now that he is not around
I still cannot believe
he just left

Darkness feels different
something odd under the skin
sinister spreading

I breathe fire
Inside your mountain
I
Brandish your soul

what if space
between us
did not expand

and if we
did not move
in circles

would we
at some point
collide?

Like a ghost
you're always here
the mark you left
won't disappear

I see your face
behind the screen
and sometimes later
I may dream

Your name I whisper
in the night
that you may join me
in my flight

Thus we may fly
time and again
high on the thoughts
that still remain

There was no purpose
I could fill
but that of memories in a frame
sitting there on your window sill

Suspended by chains
The inner chamber is kept
Safe from prying eyes

I hope this is a ****** joke
That there's no fire only smoke
Coming from guns loaded with ire
But lacking the guts the triggers require

I hope,  Sicko, that you're okay
That this is just another display
Of frustration or anger or sadness
I don't know,  help me,  this is madness!

Crying fire like that on the phone
Yelling help in that convincing tone
Quite an actor,  you are,  what a stunt
You must take me for a stupid ****

Tell me,  why did you send that text
When you know what will happen next
I'll be out of my my wits with fear
That you might this time actually disappear

It's been days now,  and I'm losing hope
I thought jokes were your means to cope
Now I'm not so sure this is fun
If it is, then please stop,  you have won!


Please respond,  please,  I beg you, call
I shall not hold a grudge at all
I just hope that you're safe, okay
Help me chase that paranoia away.

Sometimes we wish
We were Americans

We would have aced the Spelling B's
Been athletes on scholarships
Or won beauty pageants

Our institutions would compete
And we would win prizes
For accomplishments

If we were Americans
We would thrive with competition

We would live the American Dream
And be rich and famous
I just know it

Sometimes we just wish
Our Scandinavian system favoured people with our talents
Our lack of compromise
More

They are objects
Of no importance
In our lives
Often carelessly scattered
Ominous
Over ripe
Crinkled
Left
For somebody else
To pick up
But he takes them
To centre stage
On big canvases
With lots of colours
And no filter
Even sewn up wounds
Shine
Beyond the ordinary
Everyday decadence
They become parts
In our stories
Like memories of past
Or future lives
Like they have not been
Before
He saw them
This way
And let us see them
Too

You insist on not looking right at us
When we stand outside the store
Cross the street as if we are dangerous
We are ghosts sleeping at your door

In this country, they say, we are free
From birth, the system cares
We can be what we want to be
Just as long as we climb the stairs

But some of us didn't climb
And our talents were wasted at school
Maybe sometime you spared us a dime
Because showing off excess is "cool"

Since we do not exist in your mind
You have probably never thought
Of these ghosts and the tragedies behind
You just focus on the things you bought

The sounds
In the public library
With the bass
In her pulse
Made a discreet
Soundtrack
To her first reading
Of O

We board the same
Train
Heading West
On a journey
Through Instagram landscapes
We travel
In open compartments
Where party clad snappers
Make sure the world is
Updated
And that we know
And Facebook knows
Even when they are busted
For free loading
We know
It's their scene
And we're already
Has beens
With our children asleep
Across the aisle
We still travel
In the dark
After they leave
The landscape barely visible
And it is getting late
We are tired
But soon
We will be home
Again

The best of us
won't be
the last of us

I keep strawberry plants in my garden
for they give good yield with little toil
and the sweetness of self produce is greater
than something bought

I keep strawberry plants in my garden
and one in particular seems promising
it's not big in size, but it has many flowers
the promise of summer fruit

I keep strawberry plants in my garden
I watch over them from my window
and I dream of what they'll bring
especially that unseeming one in the corner

I keep strawberry plants in my garden
I water them in the absence of rain
and I **** out grass and other alien plants
so they may grow unhindered

I keep strawberry plants in my garden
and they are starting to show signs of fruit
but one of them is dying
suddenly, it just turned brown

I had a strawberry plant
it was my favourite
it bore such promises
it died and I care not for the rest

imperfect
is home
deliberately cluttered
and comfortable
so unlike mother's

Some words
like music
allow us
to touch
and caress
each other's
souls

some words
in rhythmic flows
with rhymes
like brainwaves
soothing the soul
allow us
to enter each other
in a communal state
of euphoria

Some words
just connect
perfectly
and form
not just some
but all things
anew

When all butterflies are frozen too deep
Lifeless and brittle in the snow
The touch of summer you gave me to keep
Still thaws and brings life like spring,  you know

We smoke happiness
they say
we are happy
and we smoke more
than others
it seems
we die a different kind
of happy
this way

Sometimes
I just want to bury
myself
deep
in you

For Valentine's
he said he'd take me
somewhere special
make me the centre
of attention

I smiled
I thought it would be
nice
And we drove up there
To be alone

Nice place
for romance, I thought

But when I saw his room
I knew

I was so wrong

I know of no times
sweeter
than mornings
with you

He's ok
The kids are ok
She
will be
ok

I dreamt of Columbia
of a city in the clouds
and my hands on fire
wielding powers
unimaginable

I dreamt of beauty
floating
connecting
creating pathways
for narrative

I dreamt of towers
collapsing

Burning structures
disintegrating
crashing

I dreamt of searching
exploring
then fighting
for truth


Today, even
I have spent my whole day
dreaming
of going back

He is now art
The murderer
In Death Row
A live object
To an artist
A sinner
Sentenced to die
This is
The artwork itself

But
In exchange
He requested the artist
Help with an appeal
Which
If successful
could change
The outcome
Altogether

It did
For they won
The artwork will die
In prison
Naturally

The object will die
not
By the system
And by the artist
But by God
and then
Become food
For Helena
To complete
The work of art

I spent days
looking
reading emptiness
flipping through
page after page
of absent words
searching
certain they were there
somewhere
between the lines
among the hours
spent...

Friend,

I hope that you are well
your words I have long been missing
I hope that you rather than going through Hell
some fortunate lips have been kissing

funny,
how simple sometimes
means genius
and other times
cheap

I
despite their numbers
she never learned
her craft
from
them

II
it was poetry
that started it
the revolution
in her

III
poetry became
reality
words literally
smashed her
and she
transformed

She wanders the streets unnoticed
past the news stand
with a front page giraffe
and letters in a foreign language
she barely speaks
sometimes she sits on the edge
of a bench or a litterbox
to rest her legs and her sore stilettoed
feet
She doesn't talk much
she has no friends
just work
and people
even the media
leave her alone

Maybe if she was a giraffe
with big eyes
and an enormous mythological heart
to pump blood through her neck
to her head
and to pump news around the world
Maybe then
someone would notice her?

For what news is she
compared to a giraffe
put to sleep humanely
purposefully
to secure its species
then displayed in scientific lectures
as insight for future generations
and lastly fed to lions
as if it had died on the savanna

But what purpose has she
that ******* the street
other than serving urban lions
she knows
no one will care
no one will learn from her experience
let alone from her death
by lions

I
I want to sleep
forever
and dream
of things
I do not dare to
make real

II
I want to write
those dreams
and capture
each fantasy
like frames
of a disturbed mind

III
I want to capture
your thoughts
and manipulate
your dreams
to make you write
forever
in my name

Know
That I write in faith
That I bear light
Always

please delete me
if you leave
please delete all
trace

My heart leaps
every time you pack your bags
to leave
it leaps in hope
of a safe return

Amidst the noise
I know
I must find you, Linus
if you are lost
I must go
into your darkness, Linus
seek the flow
amidst the noise
I must bring you back

a removal of
a woman's hair
always seems
so serious

I
I stopped writing
because of the sun
I could not see the dark
and my letters
became invisible
so I stopped
and waited for clouds

II
And darkness crept in
through the cracks
of a fake smile hiding
the real
painful enlightenment
that truly blocked
the sun

III
But in the dark there were letters
like keys
to boxes of treasured light
that did not sting
or burn out
like the sun

They gotta eat
Too
The swine
To feed us
Chops and bacon
They don’t discriminate
Or complain
If I feed them
Dirt
***** pieces
Of trash
As long as I grind it
Good
And I do
I treat them
Proper
Before
Slicing and dicing
And feeding them
To the animals
And thus
later
To you

I never liked silence
In my family we talk
A lot
About nothing
We talk non stop
Unless
Something serious
Comes up
Then
There's silence
Like a useless spell
Against truth

Perhaps it is here
In the blank
uncertain

space
between the lines

perhaps
we will find
that
which we do not agree on
but also that
for which we long
so much

perhaps it is here
somewhere

Nausea
Is silent
expectation
and silent
treatment
when not
met

Refrigerator magnets
Will tell
kitchen table truths
About family
And blood
And how it will stick
Forever
No matter what
To kitchen table believers

I see her picturing me
Perfect
In her image
A perfect lacquered surface
Fitting into  
Her polished plastic ideals
But as I rise
The surface breaks
Into an ugly ripple
And her image
Is cracked
Beyond repair

I never could do anything
Right
Although I was good
I was
always one step
Away from perfection
Always a pound too heavy
Or a pimple to many
From beauty
In my mum’s eyes

And now I won’t
try
Because I can
Choose not to
Try to live up to
My mum’s sense
Of perfection
And I do
I actually feel
Rather perfect
As I am

From up here
I can watch the whole stage
How they act
As if they were actually
Actors
In a play
I can see them living
Their lives
Without really living
Only playing it
In their living room
On their sofa
With their kids
Beneath the telly
And the family portraits
I can listen
To their dialogues
And their pauses
Sighs  
Feel their silences
Like liquids filling lungs
Threatening to suffocate
Them
Until love enters
And turns the whole play
Into comedy
Relief
Release
And curtain fall