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.

Rain was pouring hard
when my cheap fastfood coffee was full,
my cold sweat does the same
as soon as I finished the cup.
Bringing an umbrella in Dapitan
is not necessary.
At least that's what I said
before I was all soaked and in dread.

a fastfood
owner was happy
for record sales
his wife asked. "How?"
he replied, "there was hunger strike
by the opposition party in our area!!"

Yes, I have the keys,
my coat pocket, left-hand side,
you know this was quite pricey
and I don’t usually go for pricey clothing
but I think the bedroom light’s still on
so I’d better check. We’ve lived here
going on for fiveyears now, the wallpapering
was the biggest issue, the light’s off remember, not
the actual slather-on-paste-job-done, no, choosing
what felt right, said ‘play it safe’ so a light blue
is what we went for my keys are gone,
they’ll be in the bowlby the door. The game
will be a *******, relegation battle, it usually is
with us, I’ve been saying for ages the kitchen
window might be open sorry, relegation
and we’ve needed a twenty-goal-a-season
striker with thebedroom light’s stillon
my keys might be in there too. If we sign
somebody in the transferwindow’s shut, I knew
it was, the link-up play’s tight, wecan move up
towards mid-tablemediocrity I think
lightisoff
mustremember that now keys
noideathough ah the bowl. I’lljust grab fastfood
for my window’s keys
fordinner, not healthybuteasy I did shut
the window I knewIhad was it bowlforkeys,
no sillyofme coatpocket, notcheap no not atall
healthy comeonhow often doIeatburgers chips
notevenvery tasty bowl, rightthen
I’mreadyifonly lightisoff
knewI’d remember.

Bossy Jessy bought a dish of chicken curry
Comes out he from fastfood in an unknown hurry
Steady stony head and chin up he goes
Spare not from dog **** neatly gleamed shoe toes
Intended coincidence bursts funny fury.

-01/06/2007
(Miagao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic

I woke up to find myself
a million meters down a hole
I dug myself, lights out
fight bitten and looking
into darkness for a savior.
Thousands of travelled miles
ago a monster stood in my skin
and maybe I deserve this
slow burn punishment. I mean,
blame it on the rage or...

... There are hollow ringing notes
crashing off the walls and the back
of the inside of my head.
Playing cymbals behind my eye
Symphonies for my inner demon.
Young men wrung out and hollowed
used up and swallowed. Thrown away
like fastfood wrappers on the floors
of cars we would drive late into nights
thinking of beds we don't dream in...

...At some point you age out,
you ghetto geniuses,
and find a hostile world
not quite the fish bowl you
spent your life looking through.
And you write hundreds of thousands
of lines in the pursuit of high art
and praise and accolade
and" let's face it" fame
and never write one word that's true...

...you are always that little monster.
No matter where you go
how big you grow
or the quality of what you do,
No one will ever be proud of you.

I blink into darkness and hope
for help or better for rescue.
I find myself, some days,
looking at cherub faced photos
of myself from infanthood
It's been hard practically since
day one. I'll always wonder
if life had been different would
I have built the monster
in the skin in which I stood?