Danny drops his broad bottom
back on the seat
beside his wife
at the food court
with 3 donuts for himself
each soaked in oil and fat
and each thick with white sugar coat

“Danny, why do you eat this stuff…?
That’s all fat, three donuts of fat,”
moans his wife

“Not really,” says Danny to his wife
who eats lettuce and carrot
and who looks like a knitting needle
*“Fastfood donuts are healthy;
look at the air in the middle -
but no doubt
one has to get through rest of the donut
for sure
but the air in the middle
is pure life-giving health
when one gets there”

I want something other than ****
with the short shorts showing
everything
the low-cut crop top
exploring eyes wander over
on countless evenings
my imagination having nothing
left

I want smokey flannel
a two-day-old pony tail
boots stained by the dirt and grass
a hole in your jeans
that wasn't there when you found them

I want hungover-fastfood-drive-throughs
with my shorts and your tank top
wrinkled from your floor
your hair still wet from the morning shower

I want leggings, a t-shirt
and a backwards ball cap
while we sing loudly out the open window
tapping the dashboard off-beat
hand raised fingers pointing at the moon
laughing at the man that sits watching us drive

I would like this life of endless
Greyhound time schedules to cease.

What self-inflicted alien abduction
tore me from the valley of my birth,

leaving me to wander empty streets,
each the branch of a coppiced maze?

I grow weary of quotidian fastfood buffets
downed with the aid of espresso baristas.

My legs have lost the muscle-memory
that strode the river cliffs with no regard.

Time to end the sleepwalk of forty years;
rejoin the forward guard of Iroquois.

They've sold us ******* at a reduced price,
it was so cheap and hard not to buy.
Like a scrappy burger from a fastfood shop,
cheapest burger in town, you just can't say no.

They've sold us ******* about democracy,
bright future, freedom and prosperity.
About the new chapter in our poor lives.
They've sold us 'good news' - the big pile of lies.

They said "Just wait and you will see
what a great country we all live in".
When the voting time came, they beg "Vote for us!",
then they turned Parliament into a comedy club.

Now we are standing on the bus station
waiting for a bus, which is on diversion.
They apologise for the inconvenience,
promising that it will come, it's just been delayed.

But the bus is not coming, we keep freezing on,
knowing too well by now, that it'll never come.
"Can you, by any chance, get a replacement bus?!"
They can't, 'cause nobody longer cares about us.

They've sold us ******* at a reduced price,
it was so cheap and hard not to buy.
Like a scrappy burger from a fastfood shop,
cheapest burger in town, you just can't say no.

Rocks know a lot more about time than clocks
Drive to the top of a mountain
Cinnamon gum
Noseblood
And rocks a lot older than clocks
Tell the older us we say hello

I am stuck between red rocks and a very hard place
Rockclimbing to rockbottom
I am a time hunter, rock hunter, pigeon hunter
(Let me tell you something about pigeon hunting:
Shooting clay pigeons isn’t as much fun when the pigeons aren’t clay
and their bodies shatter in midair like pomegranates in September
with red jewels sprinkling the sandstones
the sedimentary clouds and the fastfood signs)

Remember that time I tattooed the sky?
I wrote “time is a l.e.d. light” in a sacred heart
between the stars and the freckles and the ladybugs
none of their mothers were thrilled

Now I know time is a rock, a very heavy rock
A rock is a star, a star is a rock
And me? I am a rockstar
But I have all timers. Alzheimer's? No. ALL TIMERS
and a monolith growing on my sternum

Firecrackers. That’s what I wanted to talk about.
And when I say firecracker I mean fireworks
the way fire works his way between me, time and a rock
What is it with rocks?
Rock and roll
Rocked by doubt and rolled by time
Rock my world, please

White beans.
Pinto beans.
Even turnip greens
Or lima beans with hot water country bread make from scratch.
Left an impression upon you as you reflects back.

With children's so picky about food they like.
They would have been thankful for , what they had to eat at night?

Wendy's, Mcdonald's, or any other fastfood.
You only saw it only Friday mostly.
It just wasn't a selected choice.

When you would rush home to see the meal being prepared.

Yes, the days of being young.
You look back and realize , how bless you was?

We all should salute our moms.
And in some cases back then.
Even our dads.

The days of being young.

Tri-cycles still are better then a Big Wheel.
Even the simple bicycles back in the day.
Stands out better then some of these high prices bikes today.

You use your imagination.
And mainly knew all your neighbors.

From the Postman to the Mother Patrol.
Who knew them that lived next door?
Not all was creeps.
Even if one of the house might have creeped you out.

You knew church.
Oh, how you knew church?
That's the one place mom made sure you knew.

And, if pushed by dad refusal to attend.
He made you know it too.

Gosh, the days of being young.
I wouldn't change them for anything.
But, why should I?

When they make up this poem.

livet passerer gennem spejlet
drager parallel
hudløs uærlighed, den halve sandhed
vi skriver uden at tænke os om, hvorfor
tidlig bustur, fastfood-køb; pludseligt indblik i en andens hverdag
forbløffelse er en mærkelig størrelse
en skikkelse personificerer tanken om en andens liv
at føle sig tiltrukket af ideen om, at have kendt dem i en anden sammenhæng
det magiske hvis
bearbejdet, gennemtænkt, finpudsning
et øde ***, drænet for mennesker, lagt øde (ødelagt)
at kultivere kulturarven
ønskebarnets strabadser
et savnet ord

Steaming thick creamy broth
long slim pasta noodles
freshly sliced spring onion
chopped cilantro and clives
bright juicy lime and
grounded fiery peppers

For being priviledged enough to eat
such wonders of blended cultures
and not mud cakes
or greasy fastfood
we are thankful.