Stepping through
come along
with the light
spring paintings.

Time slips by
framed
with the vivid
saturated films.

The void you left
was filled
with the best
sad stories.

Your being
Is art.

i want to make
a movie out of your
skin, the way you
move like ivy vines,

a movie-ode
to your ode-begging
face.

if i could,
i'd enter us
into a film festival
we could be a sundance
winner, a student
film phenomenon.

i bet you it would
go something
like this,
enter a blank screen,
fade into a shot of you skin,
pan out to show your face, or
body.

all skin.
all skin.

you are beautiful for
a split second,
until my voice cracks the
silence
i tell you that we could be
no one, and nothing.
and you ask me.

for what?
so we make the movie anyways.

A picture
                 slices a sliver of time
                                the traveller rewinds
and misses a beat

We can live life
                                          or
create timelines unlived

Robot replaces all unpleasantries

A picture,
cut from the reel of reality.
Nobody to miss the time,
between the jumpcuts.
Except, when you've had
a few too many

The Sea was your favorite place to be- you were sitting with your legs submerged and your blonde hair falling along the curve of your shoulders-
When the waves came rolling in I remember you jumping up and laughing a laugh that would have made the gods envious-
You wore big, black sunglasses and a dark red bathing suit that covered the most sensual parts according to society-

But I loved the curve of your back and the way you shivered when I ran my fingers up towards your spine-
I loved your clavicle and how you smiled when my lips kissed them softly --
I loved your long, smooth legs, and how you wrapped them around my waist-

"What happened to us last summer?" he said to himself when he saw her at the beach with another man.

You are the fire escape on the side of our apartments - climbing up and down, hair blowing in the breeze-
You are the burnt edge of this film I keep staring at hoping to find you in this room instead of this photograph-
Dark alley ways are for the bad girls you told me once-
Dark alley ways are all we have left of that night-

your lips dancing across mine, your hand in my hair, the blurred self portrait we took lying naked in bed-
intertwined, mixing skin with sheets, mixing sweat with saliva ; kiss me like you mean it boy-
Dark and devilish thoughts are what keep girls like me awake at night you told me once-
Dark thoughts are the only sensual thoughts I have left of you-


You are the hurricane that's forming in the gulf; waiting to destroy what's left of the coast-
You are the fire burning the rest of our photos except this one i hold in my hands-
Dark rooms are for the insecure lovers you told me once-
Dark rooms are what I have left of the secrets you left behind-

Black and white film, colored dreams, and memories clashing with reality-
Dark thoughts about dark alleys and dark rooms are what you left me with-

Oh Rick, if only things were so simple. . . .
If only there were Nazis shooting children,
bullies like Major Strasser waiting to take over,
women like Ilsa --
so beautiful and passionate
that just the memory of their love, just the shadow,
is enough.
We would sing the Marseillaise
and in the air itself,
just breathing in that hot, dry air,
would find all the meaning we need.

But we live in an everyday world,
with everyday human beings.
And we must start again each morning,
with scraps of faith and feeling,
to make the world's meaning in the foundry of our heart.

Roll it
Lights out
Whiskey sour
As I relive my incandescent whims
My life condensed to reels and reels
Of illusions
I stare in the darkness at squandered youth
A cinema of one
Coming undone
The glass falls to the floor
Echoes in the night, Ekerö's in the night
Oland also, ancient islands dancing out of sight
Islands kissing, waters whisper rippling
My sadness wrapped around
A prism in time
The director holds me bound
Movies never end
Until the obituary comes a singing
At the door, never to be opened


We used to be four
Ancient voices
Existing no more