Bubblegum flavored tequila and bubblegum flavored kisses.
Drink up. Drink more.
My friend and I sat giggling on the bed across from two wolves, their fangs hidden behind blue lipped smiles.
Have another sip, the bottle is nearly empty.

My friend leaves me, and the wolf makes a gesture to his friend to follow.

I am left alone.

Blue lips kissing blue lips,
blue on my neck,
blue on my stomach,

Take these off he says,
it will be more comfortable he says.

The room is spinning and all I can see is an empty bottle of blue bubblegum flavored tequila on the floor,
And blue bite marks down my legs,
And I'm struggling to fight off his hands as my ******* are torn off,
And I am wearing a blue bra that's wires are piercing into my chest,
And inside my chest I can feel my heart pounding,
And my ribs are not protecting the pain in my heart,

I can hear my friend outside the door,
she's on the phone to a boy,
I am calling out to her but she cant hear because his paw is muffling my scream.

Just a little bit he says,
I force a blue lipped bubblegum smile and shake my head.
Do not ******* this wolf.

I manage to kick him off but I cant find my clothes.

The next morning I wake up with a bubblegum flavored tequila hang over, and blue bruises.

"Its okay though, it could have been worse."

I have this theory that butterflies taste like bubblegum.

When I was a kid, my tongue was a permanent shade of bright pink.  Shoving as many pieces of BubbleYum into my mouth as I could fit was the epitome of happiness, and when I could fit an entire package at once I knew there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

And I’m sure that right now if you cut me open my stomach would be a fluorescent pink, because
when I see your face in my mind as I’m sitting in class or
when your name is on my tongue before I fall asleep,
that’s what it tastes like.

Bubblegum.

But please don’t cut me open. My dissection would be too ****** anyway, and far too colorful to detect butterflies…
Because my blood runs red, white, and blue.
When I was younger my mom would always tell me that as I grew older my tastes would change.  Of course, she meant that eventually I would grow to like peas, but even though that still hasn’t happened, she was right.  

Back then red, white and blue tasted like
      hamburgers
               and apple pie
                       and baseball.  

But just recently I cut my finger –
and as I brought it to my lips I tasted
      lingonberries
               and fish and
                        skiing.


Have you ever wondered why blood tastes like metal?  It is the
SWORDS and SHIELDS
that flow through my veins,
passed down from ancestors of millennia past.  And every time I am injured it pours out in protest, those ancient warriors urging me to fight against this strange land and this strange culture.
I was born away from home, as were my parents and grandparents before me. And as I feel the shapes of foreign words in my mouth they taste like meeting an old friend. Because I’ve come to realize that my blood never ran red, white and blue.  



                                                      ­            It runs rødt, hvitt og blått.

Could there be such a thing

As bubblegum poetry

And if there is

When you chew it

Do you read it and savour

The bubblegum flavor

Or is what you just read

Over too fast

Does it blow bubbles of thought

In your head more than not

And does it come sugar free

For no guilt when you read

Close cousin to a bubblegum song

Where you can't help but hum along

I personally think that it would be sweet

If there was such a thing as bubblegum poetry

I sat on your lap
while we chewed pink bubblegum.
I knew you didn't like it,
but you assured me you did.

We blew bubbles
until I knew how.
Over and over.
I made you laugh
so hard you cried.

My little arms
were wrapped tight around your neck.
I laid my head on your chest,
and I still remember
your perfect, sweet smell.

I yawned,
you stroked my head.
And you told me,
"Time to spit out the bubblegum,
and get some rest."

You carried me on your hip
up to my bed.
Although that night
all we did was chew bubblegum,
it was a night well spent.

Thursday, 1:36AM
A conversation
Stemming from a picture
Posted on Facebook
Over whether a volleyball is pink or bubblegum.

You girls should seriously get your eyes checked
Suggests its owner
Because the volleyball is most definitely not pink
Indeed bubblegum and white.

It is sad, he says,
That a college-aged person does not know
The basic colors of life.
He tells us I will pray for you
As if we are the ones who need to be atoned.
What is our sin?

Hes wondering why
God gave us such shallow minds
And bad color perception.

To this I take offense, especially since
Perception is not spelled
“p-r-e-c-e-p-t-i-o-n”.
He brings
Conception, Construction and Liposuction
Into the mix.
Where is this going I asked What is the relevance
Of these things?
He has no answer…

The things I have learned from this
are very clear:
Pink does not equal bubblegum
Facebook does not equal
Intelligent conversation
And owning a pink volleyball
Does not equal being effeminate
And whether male or female
All are one.

I once had a soul but somehow I lost it Once had a life I sold for change in my pocket But even that's gone I had to buy gum Even I found a way to give all I had for baby's breath

in the silver of morn, little bird joyful trills
five lines remain blank
the notes won't play on
its breathe lies below the sand
where tranquil bulrushes grow


1.
in the hue of sombre afternoon
    knees drawn up to chest
    memories intent on knocking loud
cold harbour between these sheets
   no blotting out that light -- it has to be faced
there's no silver in the clouds.. so bulbous and so there
only a tie on the path


2.
can you please let me be?
need to be left alone a while
while I clean up the righteous-mess of this dread
           hours to make me presentable before that
which must be lived through

smiles can be pasted on.. by old-habit, so well-mastered
it's an old tale caught in a twist by its own wick'd-tail
perhaps some gale to shake up the roster
and relieve from parallel track.. liberate
surely, they can hear the stylised bass-chords inside me
             leave their odd-resonance
boom.. boom

3.
treble is missing..
your laughter, I can still hear your tinkling-laughter
         even as I see you being lowered slowly, slowly, slowly
s l o w l y
down into the bowels of where we all go to rest one day
you take with you.. the *one clef needed for clarity to live

shut eyes tight against that bright-red insolence
        struggle with the process of accepting the impossible
reliving anguish through swollen eyes in a clip of vision
imposing terror.. grips tummy-muscles and twists
eternally deforming galaxial-dust in my eyes


4.
in the grey of eve.. no hunger, no thirst
    place food in mouth - must
    shove fluids down constricted-throat - must
..baking sun waves at me, setting in gilt-smiles

clean out the navy-attic of my overdrawn-mind
find your blue bubblegum on the counter
and suddenly, my arms are clad in shivers-cold
                       head is spinning
I pick up the morsel, turn it over and unwrap
stare at it, discovering you.. again
tears well but never fall..
         I place the gum inside
         chew and chew and chew....................
it is you.. not lost
place the bubblegum on silver wrapping
'cause the clouds.. they offer no solution

I have to eat, my hunger grew
my sanity is toast


5.
yes, smiles can be pasted on.. by old-habit
        but not this time
why let love be secured so.. then harshness steps in
to wrench away.. leaving such monstrous-gaps?
perhaps it's safe to just.. not love..
close up the heart - pack away in congelator

(weird.. a heart is just a piece of meat)
love-letters and sweet-poems are for the eyeless
hearts for eyes.. render blind-suite
tenderly hack out these.. hack, hack!



the only remnant now.. a hard-ball of gum found stuck
      hid as a half-moon under the pedestal

still.. earth turns again
          birds sing on

your laughter never lost.. completes the score
        the symphony unfolds
as sage doth reveal.. one step at a time :)



S T -  14 Feb 2014

Waking up,
The smell of strawberries
Marries the air
And infatuates me into
An early morning's lust;
I'm in paradise.

Holding your hand,
Fingers intertwined,
As the radio plays
And we stay with the beat.

Leaning in,
This is the moment;
Strawberries flood
My tastebuds,
And then you blew a bubble to the size of your face.

Bathing in bubbles
That are scent-less,
And I'm senseless
And my hands roam
And your mind leaves this world.

A fire burns
And seven bodies
Bare witness to newborn
Affection-
And I swear a star was too.

But I'll never see that star.
That taste seems so vague.
I came in and burst your bubble-
Tastes sweet
Until the flavor faded.

So here we are,
A bubblegum kiss later,
With a layer between us.

We took our pound of flesh
And the scars are still fresh
But it’s deeper than that

He’s your new best you ever had
I’m the ex so that means I’m bad
I never needed stuff like that

You always talked about a soul mate
Now I’m living with my soul’s fate
But I can't worry about that

Love is deep
Losing is not
Bubblegum rhymes
Is all I’ve got

You buried me in the past
Our secrets are who we are
But only if you remember those times

He’s the star behind the curtain
It will soon part that’s for certain
I won’t be watching for that

You always liked the things I thought
He likes women who can be bought
You’ll soon see through that

We talked about God and desert sand
Now I’m a kid instead of a man
Losing at love always does that

Love is deep
Losing is not
Bubblegum rhymes
Is all I’ve got

You buried you in the past
Our secrets are who we are
But only if you remember those times