Holy water into wine. Beer from barley.
Walking on the roof of a brewery,
Contemplating how Jimmy Fallon's
Finger never really seems to heal.

Combine harvester headlights dance
On the living room walls
As I lean back on my white IKEA
Sofa, tracing long hairs and

Fingerprints of lovers gone,
Wondering why I chose such a
Revealing colour.
Suppose the transparency matches

That of my soul's lining.
Holy water into wine.
Fields of gold now liquid painkillers
Slurring the voices in my head that

Pick fights with my heart over
Insignificant issues.
I lip synch to the music of my
Neglected talents and the memories

Of inspiration attached.
Bullets like knuckles rapping, rapping
At my empty chamber
Door.

Every finger I ever broke
Was from typing or
Punching
Walls.

Sometimes I put on the mask of
Poet, and pretend to be writing  
For as long as it takes to fool
The empty pages.

These are days of change.
Eggshell cracks,
Sun rising differently.

Sometimes I put my ear to
The ground and listen.
Heartbeat choirs of

Our unborn children.
Seeds of poets.
Write love; not war.

Laughter hot on the
Trail of your tears. A

Mother's gentle breath
Soothing a bruised knee.

There,
Now.

Broken heart healed, see?
Scar free and good as new.

Winds follow rains;
Spring winter.

Hell, even Lieutenant Dan's legs
Grew back in the end.

Ah, this meditative combination
Of balcony summer, drinks and
Poetry.
Oh, this carefree state of mindfull
Bliss; breathing tickles.
Poetry
Was never so absolute; park trees,

City summer, green lungs of
Oslo full of air.
Seeing the bushes by the railroad,
Pieces of nature
Peeping through
The cracks of civilization, taking
Control of city people's hearts.

Flowers dancing shamelessly
*******, swaying in breezes of the
Kind that picks up the heat from
Sunshine-warm streets and
Hugs you with it;
Rubs it all over you
Like a lap dancing angel.

Ah, to live is to meditate.
Late summer, August ablaze.
Weekend era; aeon of freedom.
As at home as any
Norwegian in
Norway. All I try to do ends
Up in laughter.

Thunder echoes.  
Flashes through billions
Of hailstones smashing against
Trees, leaving clouds of

Crushed leaves hanging, slowly
Blending into the chaos of
Angry weather, then: Nothing.
I worry for my windows,

Pounded with ice and shaking
From relentless thunder.
Nature, now, is an angry
Woman,

Child, heirloom or love stolen.
Furious fire, skies dark with a
Thousand wings.
Drop your swords and run,

Men. Your homes are in
Flames. Your armours as
Useless as your wet pairs of
Long johns.

Eyes see what the
Heart allows.
I love you, and hand
You slivers of silver.
You curse me for
My needles.

Do not ask why you are here,
Treading the waters of a
Planet leaving tears on the
Straight razor held
Firmly to her throat by her
Children.

You are here to dance your life
Out from birth to dust
On the floor between Satan and
Seraph, between kind and
Selfish. Between
Poet and predator.

Know that a light heart, love
For yourself and others; a
Whispered gratitude for the
Smallest of things, is the tallest
Tree in Paradise.
Anger is an axe.

And fear. Fear is a chainsaw.
See the flower; ignore the
Thorns.
Look past the hurtful comment;
More often than not, it was a tickle,
Not a slap.

Be the finger that begins the easing
Of the grip around the razor's
Handle. Form an open hand upon
The face of our blue mother.
Kiss her. Kiss her every sweet
Tear of relief.

Green giant hand raised
Towards the heavens.
Claws of seaweed,
Pine,
Olive,

Soon to fade into autumn
Auburn,
Burgundy,
Vermillion,
Amber,

Then shed its template
Flake by flake until
Naked; pure
Black against
Snow.

Headstone upon
Life itself.
Root grave. Branch bones.
Skeleton of an
Angel.

Unrestrained
Summer sweat slick skin sliding
Urgent
Homemade wine lubricating the distance
Between our whispering mouths
I want you
Cowboy boots knocking sideways shimmy
So ready for your deep sighs
To set my hips a dancing
This is late night country twang duos  
Heart beat rhythms speed up like humming bird wings
Drinking deep of soft *** nectar
Eyes roll back in mid-moan wonder
Close now to seeing early morning fireworks
Fog rolls in over high peaked mountains
I am right there with them
Dewy. Dawn kissed.
Strung tight like guitar string strumming  
This body's melody hums in tune with you