I want to love
Right now.

Open up the refrigerator door of my
Heart and leave it open.

I drink not for the dead.
They needn't escape, nor
Celebrate.

I drink not for the lost.
They need not flee from
Past or fate.

I drink for all the rest.
For those who have no
Cup nor wine.

To them, I'm raising mine.
The ones who stay to
Work and fight

Through the day and darkest
Night. Who rest beyond
Sobriety.

I suppose I drink for me.

I would not shed a tear
I would ****** myself

Upwards
And fly

Into clearest of skies
Where no worries arise
Because that's what it

Feels like
To die.

Let gods all bow their heads in grief,
Command the rain: Release!
Ask the sun to please retreat,
And ask that I find peace.

Set fire to all places that these eyes have ever seen.
Set an equal blaze to all I ever felt within.
Spread the word to every ear that ever heard my pen:
That the voice they witnessed never will be that again.

Then ask each word I ever wrote:
Return, and share his grave.
Because -if I ran out of words- none written I could save.
I'd have to call them back, if not forever I am heard:
I'd never be at all -if ever I ran out of words.

Somewhere out there
A man lays dying
Whose last thoughts
Are a wishing that his life
Had been more like
Mine.

I was put on Earth to feel.
To run my hands through dirt
And thank.

To lift; move and be
Content with the act.
To eat and grow myself into

A shield the size of
Family.

I have only come close
To taking human life.
I have never seen an unanimal birth.

A shield the shape of myself; only
A few sizes too small;  

I thank the gods I've never
Danced on TV.

That I knew how to end a
Marriage. How to lick my

Wounds with the taste of unsatisfied
Woman on my mouth;

How to take **** and
Name it fertilizer.

I've never looked a naked girl  
In the eyes and said "I don't love you."

I've never seen the inside
Of a prison
Sober.

For those of care.
Of care.

Have you ever heard
An ambulance crew's

Member talk a brittle little   
Old lady into a

Young, confident
One?

You should see
Those eyes awaken

With living fire; so unlike
Those

That made us
Call.

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

But I might
Wear you out

Life with me
Is both relaxing

And so very
Not

Here
Take my

Best boots
Bring courage

Bring trust
And a

Bottle of pure
Adventure

Come lover
There are

Mountains with
Our

Names on
Them

It's one of those nights.
This ancient house makes noise
With every gust of cold wind,
And I'm all alone on the farm.

I'll throw a log on the fire and
Watch a Paranormal Activity-
Or Blair Witch kind of movie.
As loud as I want, with the lights

Out. Play a trick on my own nerves.
Challenge this old, beaten-up heart.
Eat some cheese, drink strong coffee,
Unplug the nightstand light.

Open the creaking door to the hallway.
Then tuck myself in.
Set myself up for one for the books.
I love a good nightmare.

I'll let my imagination set the scene,
Then drift off into its realm.
Who needs movies, to dream is free.
Tonight, no one can hear me scream.

Hoping for my favourite ending.
The one where it's all so terrifyingly
Horrible, that I pray to Whom it May
Concern: Please, let it just be a dream..!

I'll do anything for this
Not to
Be real...

*Ok.

A plumber at the construction
Site has had me
Laughing to myself

All day. Replying to a friendly
Nice work! with a straightened
Back, a blank face behind an agreed

Yes. Then going back at it.
Yes. As
If

Breathing.  

Obvious as


Air.

I love my life.
All of it.
Every time the sun warms or
Burns; the rain soothes, or
Stings with angry ice; barrel-hot
Buckshot, I
Thank. Thank for the
Weather.
I love my life.
All of it.

It's an art.
All of it.
Every time the axe rests above
Your neck mid-air,
Wink at the masked one
Holding the handle.
Thank. Thank for the
Swift awakening
Awaiting.
Add years to your dreaming.

It's an art.
All of it.

I love you, poet.
All that is you.
You hold an opposing answer
In each hand, commanding
The chooser to hold
Your gaze and keep
Asking.
The best readings rest between
Every line drawn.

I love you, poet.
It's an art. All that
Is you. **** well
All of it.

Sleep safe.
Add years to your
Dreaming.

I suppose you had me at "heeeey!",
But I'm still bouncing down the
Staircase of my own heart,  
One step at the time.

Your language is that of images.
Graphics. Oil on canvas. Interior
Design. Always knowing where
Something sits or hangs the most

Pleasing to the eye. I lean back with
Ink and infatuation, under only
Just enough light to write without
Being seen too clearly by keen eyes.

Two superheroes fighting the good
Fight. Saving days. Superpowered.
Telling the world how beautiful it is;
Mothering lovers loving like this.

If I run out of words, draw me another.
When your colours dry out, I will write
You of sunsets and stories,
Images and words go as hand in

Hand as our souls have since all eyes
Turned to the door through which
You floated, back straight, head
High, dotting the i

Of your beauty with a smile like a
Slap in the face of my well rehearsed
Image of 'calm and collected.'
Breaking the ice into crystals  

With one
Single
Word.   
"Heeeey!"

Is
Vacation.

Sunday afternoon, Oslo.
Pavements fit for ice skating
Rather than her high heels.

I am crutch.
Sun-goes-down red onto
The solid wetness.

As we reach the tram stop,
She throws a gaze directly into
My eyes, fingertip finding the outline

Of the fresh tattoo on my chest
Barely visible at the edge of the
White tank top under my

Alice in Chains tribute-style
Flannel shirt.
"I love the way it covers up her

Name," I know she
Thinks but doesn't
Say, and I

Agree. Sometimes the temple walls
Of a man's body's skin are no
More sacred than the

Bucket of paint sitting ready
Outside a basement bar's
Gentlemen's toilet cubicle, just

Waiting for
The
Janitor.

To listen to this thunder with me.
No make-up on, wear one of my
Shirts; leave what's left of
Yesterday's mascara.
I love you more, when you don't.

I need a woman.
I want to smell yesterday on you,
Perhaps your legs should have been
Shaved, but I have an itchy back
I can run across them;

Costs you nothing but a pose.
I need a woman who says "You
Really should not go in there,
Use the sink, I'll do the dishes with
Antibac tomorrow."

I need a human. Not a Victoria's Secrets
Model; someone all blood and bones
And body who puts my hand
Under my shirt,
And says: "I know you're a poet,

So if I only give you this, you'll still
Find enough in there to keep you
Occupied with a poem about it until
******* is over, and I can give you
The rest..."

I have a friend who can clear his whole
Restaurant for us.
The fact that you'd rather be here with
Me, on this sofa, makes me wish you were
Real. I need a *woman.

I believe that every tree; every swallow;
Every breath of clean air that I draw

Accepts the love I feel towards it,
And responds in my everyday life,

The way any "god" would. 
Thank you for your love. This is for you.

That smile from a stranger; that money
I found, that favourite song of mine on

The radio, was a hug from the trees
(**** human-huggers) of my

Home farm dirt road
Alley, where I walked today

Asking myself how at home a man
Can feel, kissing it all with my eyes.

My everyday life...
That insignificant, poor place

Where my every amazing treasure lies
Unhidden.

Walking the gravel roads that my
Ancestors walked before me,
I feel the ghosts of their struggles
Beneath my feet.

But also their voices; laughter,
Infant legs running towards fathers
With shouldered axes and saws and
Smelling of forestry.  

Weary, but not too weary to pick up
A child for an afternoon embrace.
The trees still sing the songs they sang
Them to sleep with;

Bellies full of barley or not at all.
Despair and hardship, yes.
But more. The land remembers
Their lullabies.

The huge bird tattoo on her  
Back burns like lazers when
Her skin gets warm,

And I, a human radiator
Favouring a sub-zero bedroom
And thin covers not to

Burn an imprint of myself upon
The sheets,
Massage heavy lotion onto her

Cringing canvas, occasionally
Kissing that phoenix rising from
The ashes of her history of

Colder lovers.

As I step out into the street
To stop traffic for the loaded
Truck to back into the
Narrow gates by the
Intersection,
I think about you.

As the suit in the BMW gives
Me the finger and I respond with
A raised index- and little finger
Heavy Metal sign and a grin,
I think about you.

As I signal the driver to back up
Further and further until he's in
Just the right spot to unload,
Take off my wet gloves
And blow into my hands,
Sensing the scent of
Innerwoman, I think about
You.

As the Hiab truck crane unfolds
From itself and rises, rises,
Extending towards
The low, heavy clouds above
The city morning, I think about
Thinking
About you
Naked.

We sat together, but not like
Ever before.
Our Lady Peace on repeat.
I'd written a post for Facebook
About us being over.
Thanking.
Stating that we'd agreed
(Half a truth)
To end it.

I'd helped her write one too,
And counting down from three,
We posted.
Changed our statuses from In a
Relationship to blank.
Then stood up and
Thanked into each other's
Last embrace.

Flag up as we went down.
No loud voices,
Only this mutual sorrow
And chocked sighs.
It was done.

Something inside us both looked
Up and asked
What the Hell just happened?  
I heard angels moan no...
I felt Earth shiver
At our death.

She'd asked her friend later
If ending it in such grace was
A common thing.
"Girl, you just ended your first
Adult relationship."

And she did. With class.
Tears of gratitude
For years of passion and
Friendship, and the music.

*We are, we are all innocent.
We are all innocent.
We are.
We are.

I've always said that the older
The soul, the fewer times

The three ugly words
"What about me?"

Have been uttered from
The mouth it possesses.

I wish I could oil the gears
Of your self worth with my

Every drop of compassion,
But this sudden flash of coldness

In my gut is that of a factory
Owner worrying ever so slightly

About a new sound in old
Machinery within the bowels

Of the buried bunker where they
Manifacture my every set

Of
Sympathies.

Content.
All pubs closed.
All drink drunk.
Homebed.
Outside is
Outside.

Never dream. Plan.
Enjoy the way your future...
Smells. Sense it, then move towards
It without chasing
Anything.

Intend, and the rest will birth itself.
I've seen friends who failed every class
In high school get better jobs than
Us others ever dared
Aim for.

I've seen other friends abandon
******, fight every unmerciful
Second of withdrawal, day by
Day, and win.
Alone.

I've decided what kind of person
I want by my side as I move
Away from my last chapter and into
This. She's here
Now.

In solid love, I intend this to go on.
I hope it'll go on. God, I'm
Looking forward to this going on,
And on. And  
On.

My will is my command.
I apparently know not
How to fail. The bigger picture
Is always
Biggest.

Defeat is an
Attitude.
Victory is
An
Attitude.

Your speaking in your sleep
Keeps me up all night trying to
Remember that favourite song
Of mine that your ****
Voice reminds
Me
Of

Girlfriends are real
Demons at
Times  
Hell might be
Heaven  
Men may
Be right

But nothing hurts when
You love
Enough
Just be
Laughter

Lighter things
Feel like love and
Lightness
Audience
Lucky as all others who know
This
Is
Unfear
We happen
Now

You are so beautiful.
You are so young.
Won't you stay just the way
You are...

Days of pretending over,
You bask in the feeling
Of finally being seen.
I watch breathlessly.

Inside you is cotton and
Gold. I want to hang you on
My favourite wall and
Die gazing.

I want to put my most
Precious belongings in your
Chest and turn the
Key,

Toss it over my shoulder
And name you
Safe.
I put on my writing ring

And do this.
Tomorrow I smell you.
Tomorrow, I awaken again.
We count down and live.

I shuffled off my armour, fought with bow, then sword,
Then knife, then handfuls of gravel and stones.

Pebble for arrow, the ones who joined my flesh
I tore out and hurled back in crimson sprays.

My children were too young for slavery.
My wife was too pretty to be left alone.

Home redused to ashes.
Family lost in an inferno of boots and blades.

I would rise from this.
I would arise a cold and hungry demon,

Composed by the devil that is revenge, justice in blood,
And plain, animal violence.

And you would see -before the life left your eyes-
That you created me.

You had nothing better to do,
So you created me.

You killed all I was,
And created me.

You were laughing

When you
Created me.

Awakened by each other's
Heavy breathing
From nightmares in
Tandem,

Turning wide eyed and
Reaching out to touch
Skin unbroken,
Whispering

In unison: *"Thank Heaven
And Hell they
Didn't get
You either..."

Is
Everything.

After the smoke clears
I survey the damage.

Or rather the lack
Thereof.

My eyes have grown.
My mouth narrowed.

I'm all ears; all hands
Unclenched.

I've learned to appreciate
A hug from my father,

Felt just how well
My mother knows my pain

Without a single drop of hint.
Silence. Ah, the silence.

To do what-, when-, however I want.
The freedom of a King Size alone.

My God, the things I gained
In the fire.

Clouds like ice on water
Shield holding heat

Between the ground and
Itself

Car is here for the
Container

I am the cold mouthful of
Coffee I throw on a smoking

Sigarette **** on the
Concrete, remembering

Back home
Back then

It was you who decided when
The break was over

So it never was a
Break

It was a laidback lifestyle
Always between two

Achievements
Until remaining

Stationary got too much
For your young, impatient side

(That always dragged us down
Into infantility)

I loved your all, but that part
Being gone with the rest of

You, is the silence after a
Container-car having sqreeched

Tons of metal along tarmac,
Then hoisting,

Then driving off, making room
For another quiet

Coffee
Break.

I dream of not being.
of fading, reduced to gratitude
for all that flowed, floated,
glimmered and shone.
then unbecome.

every day a dream.
every night aware of
daybreak unafraid.
we must all awake into
the othernesses

of belonging.
let the last grain of my person
be lifted on a wind so gentle
it carries; holds with
nothing but care,

and know with the last of
what once was heart, that to
love and thank was all I was
supposed to do.
if so, I did very, very well..

Take all of my belongings; pictures of
Beloved ones and grandmother's bible.
Just leave me a piece of paper and my
Will to describe the memory of my losses.

I take the pen for granted, as one does when
Leaving a bank in deeper debt.
One man's advertisement is another poet's
Tool.

I, Poet, would arise in the morning and praise
My tiny square of window, even with its
Iron bars.
I'd find poetry in prison wall profanity.

I love losing. Crying over love, over
Tragedies the size of full history book pages,
Timeless art lost in gallery fires, bad poetry
Gone viral and unpublished classics discarded.

I, Poet, laugh out loud in disbelief at sunsets
And other banalities.
Take spring rain showers and act at times
Like a hipster on ether; a hippie kissing his  

Last tab of acid with the heart of his tongue.
I care less than the unfree.
Drink water; wash my feet with wine    
And walk miles and miles of fire.

I, Poet.
Ink in my veins, fountains of blood on my
Pages. I write no diary, keep myself between
The lines.

The areas of white between the words.
The opposite of
Nothing. It is where gods,
Truths, and the poet's way of loving

A dual life lie. As
Unseen as
Unhidden, in
Broad daynight.

I read it in the skies.
Clouds part before my eyes
Tomorrow.
For today, I will
Let it rain.

Watch dark clouds turn lighter
With each drop
Upon the forever careless
Grounds.

Let it all free itself.
Wind dries. Sun warms.
Grass grows.
Love shifts.

Blue skies are as common
As air.

Girl of imagery, of MacBook and Photoshop.  
In a Skype conference with designers and
Project Managers across
Europe,  

Smiling to me when I enter the room
Quietly; she's working. I was in Sweden
With the guys. Bragging. She's good for
You, they said, raising

Beer cans around the fire. Woman
Accepted, dear brother!
A little too drunk, I felt, to phone her from
The hill with reception. No need. She'd

Texted me: Sverre, I am perfect for you;
As you are for me. I adore your energy
Around me. The thought of you
Dances around in my head

Like my last marble, playing pinball with
My insecurities and confidences,
Scoring, then dropping, being
Thrusted back out, making PINGS and

PONGS, and my knees weak. I love taking
Care of you, between all your cares taken of
Me. By Odin, I love you, my one true
Man.

Woman, you turn down all other
Volumes, leaning back with eyes closed
When I read for you. Naming me poet,
But I see now; there's not a medium in

This world you cannot tame and utilize.
I've painted with you, now write with me.
You are a rock star superwoman.
All I can teach you, is that attitude.

I sat at a table with Death.
I ate from his plate while he
Pinched from my snus.
We were drinking, and not unamused.
He was quite a good listener; took in
Every word.
He laughed at my jokes, and my
Stories he heard
With a keeness about him,
Charisma and charm,
So far from a force of such terror
And harm?
Not once did he hint at my life or my
Soul.
He paid for my drinks and for
Every bowl of
Nachos they served as we sat
Through the night.
Laughing and sharing until
The first light.
The best of my times. As if on
My request.
Then Death sat his cup down, put
Thumb to his chest.
Belched and stood up, took his scythe
And said: "Boy,
You went as you wanted; with
Beverage and joy.
Now leave every worry, forget
Each regret.
Come home and lay down, you have
Earned right to rest.
No second of Life that you lived,
You'll forget.
I sat at a table with Death.

Sunrise at 4 am.
Birdsong before my alarm.  
Outside an open
Bedroom window

I saw no reason to greet
Another day with other than
Gratitude.

A deer drinking dew from
Leaves, startled by a
Fox, then, seeing no threat,
Continued to make
My morning.

I rest solo
A bed for two
Feels like
Hotel

Where is home

Wherever I rest my
Head
Isn't

Now

The last specks of snow on the
Fields disappeared with the parting
Of the clouds.

Now blue, the skies smile
Upon everything.
I spoke to a friend today.

The birds keep picking at the
Sunflower seeds I put out by
My window.

I spoke to a friend today.
Now my windows are eyes to my
Soul as I watch mud and dead

Grass kiss the sun back with nothing
But themselves. This spring, as every.
We are not beautiful yet.

But we love you for making us
That; green and alive. Spring is
Spring to everything.

Spring to everything, and not only  
The words of my friend's
Linger, but the feeling does too; that

When all is as beautiful as this,
I'm not the only one
Seeing it.

I believe in the things between
senses.
unseen, unheard, un-so-on
and so forth.  
both feet firmly planted in
thin air.
I stand for our love.

I imagine castles with our names
on them.
countries to our honour.
hearts and initials on
every living tree on Earth.
like some teenage girl I
picture a wedding on the coast.
priestless ceremony
where the god in all things
holds the only blessing
we need.
before Her I stand
for our love.

before friends and enemies.
before poets and politicians.
parents, siblings, teachers.
before my head and heart,
toe to toe with common
sense and pessimistic
realism.
("this world will **** what we
have; strangle us with the
piano string of everyday
stresses and sorrows."
"no.")

I think of eternities.
lifetimes of souls.
I take you on for
forever.

I stand for our love.
I have never washed my
hands after handling something
holy. I would never write like
this, and be lying.
I have never tried
to hide a
tattoo.

I've stood wounded before
Gods and parents,  
Hand on my heart to keep the blood
Inside for as long as it took me to say:
It was me.

It was my responsibility.
It was me.  
At times the only meaning you
Find in a chapter of
Your life,

Is the peace you feel when
Realising that you -all in
All- have no one but
Yourself to blame.
So you don't.

It hurts.
It hurts like bones growing.
Like disengaging from the machine
And learning to breathe
On your own.

it doesn't have to mean
anything.
sometimes I just need to
draw something.
something about the way her
hair falls into her face
when she laughs.

something about that crow on
that wire that keeps
yelling my name as if I've
hurt his feelings and he wants me
dead and in Hell.
something about the way I've never
heard anybody say they
love me in her western dialect
before.
I melt whenever she does.
hey, I melted the first time
she said she liked me.

that's all there is to it.
it doesn't have to mean anything.
just like dust, rain, chest pain,
a cracked windshield, a hole in
your sock or a letter from the
taxman.

it's just poetry, mum.
just little
somethings.

Thursday beers
With thirsty peers
I really don't understand why they
Choose to ignore that
There's one day more. Now I'm
Not looking forward to Friday.