i)

it is hard to judge your
own creation
ask any mother or god

(i am neither)
and i write and forget
or to forget

that i might write
another-something that
means something

or might change the
cosmos and everything in it
or just go-do-ray-mi..

ii

this is the fun-never knowing
but using my thumb and
middle can create

indifference puzzlement
love and hate
in some ambigousness-

left handed fate..
or a play with words
some loch ness

iii

monster at the gate
going-ahhhhhhhh!
when it turns absurd

but keep on going
regardless-what might occur
something of interest

like art or wait..
life is short
and death is long..

iv

try not to say
what is the point
(cause it´s an oblong)

pointless questions
a dirge or some long lost song
that has no effing ending

but goes ding-****
but makes millions
happy..

or why bother?
long long the flow
of tiny little things..!

v

once i dreamed of
fame and fortune..
lily, are you listening?

why,she says marking
her page-what is she reading-
her own poems..here´s one-

a)

i wanted money
so i could eff off
the factory

(or office..)
the time piece
like a ***** or rack

-the monster of
silver and black
that nailed

into my head and
heart
so lost but accurate...

(i might rise late
and drink good coffee
yawn and be happy..)

b)

fame seems a bit
of an oversight
who to trust..

when it´s lost
something indefinable
the strangers babble..

i was me
now,what to say
what is it i

thought it was
things change
but to what..

vii

what is she reading
her own poems still
here is another one..

it is called


just to
**** time:
in the mind
if you stick pins in mine-

a second hand..stretching
on a rack never to come
back..elongating and breaking
(thumbs *******)

you see me
in the factory
looking up at three
and again at five..