THE LEOPARD AND THE GOAT

to let you know

that i think you are perfect

i call you up late one night

when i know you are sleeping

and talk at length

about your imperfections

as i listen to you listen

as i talk

i know

how glad you must be right now

that we never have to pretend differently

again

that your faults and your inability

of pertaining static properties

is really the root

of us

ever changing into someone

we will not be afraid to lose

into someone we never have to be again

as i listen to you listen

as i accentuate the force

of our agreeable non-agreement

by telling parables of how a bicycle

can never retain the same wheels once

they are changed

or how a government can never reconstitute

the vigor of the ideas it was originally founded upon

once it is in decline

you decide to prove your love to me

some 5-10 minutes ago

by having already

quietly hung up the phone

LET´S Go

when history grows stupendous/

we shall climb into her/ this other

history/ like a celebratory

infestation/

with no movements/

or actions/

a cluster of arms/

holding on to a cluster of bodies/

ourobourically dissolving each other/

in an endless series/ of final

embraces/

nothing to annihilate/ but annihilation/

a new skin will cover our fingers/ legs/

chest/ head/ until all is coccoonified/

when we burst/ our new skin/ will travel/

down every branch of the family tree/

and erect a statue at the roots/ free

of commands/

my new skin/ i see it as a sail/ is strung

between the unfinished framework/ of two

neighboring buildings/ where

i inhabit the one/ and soon

the other

ATTACK OF THE PACT

having finally finished my reading of Deleuze/ I sat down

on a patch of exterminated cockroaches/ and waited for Deleuze

to finish his reading of me

I LOVE DUST

we are taking turns

getting rid of me

I am nothing

solar flares

extinguished

on a cold forehead

twenty days or so

before

one of the Kennedys are assassinated

history doesn´t approve of redundancy

yet

so many of it´s followers

will never be remembered

just can't get no satisfraction

i turned baroque

in the middle of a sentence

where you

were supposed to cut me off

so now

i'm reading up on

literary time periods

and later

when i find your number

i will call you

from a poem about a telephone

written by john donne

RE(pro)DUCTION

dive into the blue light

borrow my dreams

let's get stuck together

and chuckle

at our human upholstery

pointless poem to a retarded alien entity

we are born aliens

we share an alien humanity

a potential to circumvent our alien nature

in honour of the very few that manage this transitional grace/we call upon them for their leadership

the woman who tends her child on a garbage heap/and sells her body for scrap iron/to later trade it for food

the man who disperses a pack of starved wolves/by sitting down in their midst/putting his skinny bones up for offer

the little girl/who stares out of the sickness she is condemned for/with only compassion for those who seek her demise

the boy who leaps into the volcano to save the village he comes from

we are born onto a virgin mothership

in our alien mirrors we write nothing/we hold feathers/but can not draw ink

in our alien passports/we collect alien stamps

in our alien baths/we leave alien rings

in our alien banks/we trust our alien money

in our alien lives/we suffer an alien sorrow.

the true alien we find/when we know we are aliens too/is a human alien

[adhering to one sentence only/written on the wall of a cave/ in the south of france/ 32000 years ago:]

"I told you so"

What a celebrity showcasing his bedroom on national television might as well be saying instead of «this is where the magic happens».

«This is where I sleep. Alone.»

«This is where suppression begins.»

«This is where I bring prostitutes.»

«This is where maintaining a heterosexual poster boy image to sell millions of [insert commodity here] to millions of people, while I secretly fraternise with men in parks, at night, is really put to the test. I call this room Narnia.»

«This is where the magic happens. The full three minutes of it.»

«This is where the maid cleans three times a week, while I sleep in generic hotel rooms. In fact, this is the first time I've been in here.»

«This is where I cry.»

«This is where I eat the majority of my dinners.»

EXCERPT:

[...]
I will stay with you
until you realise who I am
and then
it's you
you will stay with me
until I realise who you are
and then
it's me
I will stay with you
until you realise who I am
and then
it's you
you will stay with me
until I realise who you are
and then
it's me
I will stay with you
until you realise who I am
and then
it's you
you will stay with me
until I realise who you are
and then
it's me
I will stay with you
until you realise who I am
and then
it's you
you will stay with me
until I realise who you are
and then
it's me
[...]

M L L R C

lulled

by oceans

dripping into being

CAT PWM

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Eleven poems to Osama Bin laden

1.

are we not dissimilar you and I/ hiding in plain sight for ten years/ luxuriously overlooked/ not abandoned/ not remembered/ tomorrow's obituaries tattoed on burnt skin/

too dark/ too dark to write now that you're gone/
too dark/ too dark to write now that I'm gone /

are we not dissimilar you and I/ we inhabit the same street/ we anticipate the same milkman/ and the same drunken idiot to knock the milk over / through the windows/ we see the same bodies that are not there/ the same surrendered place that letters arrive to/

the same dust will settle on our sunken bodies/ in the same submerged chest of drawers/ adorned with the same unspecified carvings/

the mandala of our life/

when yours is disturbed/ so is mine

2.

we are falling apart peacefully/ perfectly/

our glow-in-the-dark skin is humming saliently in the constant evening/ as the exterminators make their rounds/ under another broken moon

we are blinded/ from feigning a light that grew too strong/ we are blinded/ caught up in a pointless supernova of seduction/

our wings ablaze/ we are moths/ radiating briefly

before being terminated/ in the questionable stillness of a philosophers candlelight

3.

do you/ like me/ look towards that mountain/

unsure if it can know/ where it began/

and if possible/ where it will end/

and at the same time/

if it can know that it has ended already/

no more volcanic hellos and goodbyes/

or longings towards conversations/ where you open up/

and say; we can be the same/ rock hard and loving/

all questions made for us/ and answers/

definitely/ always there/

growing for no reason at all/

4.

do you ever justify dreams/

do you ever think it is your task to forgive the sun/

do you ever find the time to write poetry/

5. (television)

house/ castle/ camelot/ the office/

smallville/ community/

south park/ parks and recreation/

the walking dead/ entourage/ lost/

friends/ breaking bad/ mad men/ breaking in/

I'M A CELEBRITY GET ME OUT OF HERE/ gossip girl/

sons of anarchy/ navy cis : la/ the killing/

prison break/

make it or break it/ big bang theory/

x files/ bonanza/

true blood/ workaholics/

6. (film)

showdown at boot hill/ when hell broke loose/

never so few/ the magnificent seven/

master of the world/ a thunder of drums/ X-15/

Kid Galahad/

the great escape/ 4 for Texas/ battle for the bulge/

the sandpiper/ the guns of Diablo/

this property is condemned/

the dirty dozen/ guns for san sebastian/

farewell friend/ villa rides/ once upon a time in the west/ lola/

rider on the rain/

you can't win em all/ violent city/

cold sweat/ someone behind the door/

red sun/

Chato's land/

the Valachi papers/

the mechanic/ the stone killer/ chino/ mr Majestyk/

death wish/ break out/ breakheart pass/

hard times/ from noon till three/ St Ives/

the white buffalo/ telefon/ love and bullets/

borderline/ cabo blanco/ deathhunt/

death wish 2/ 10 to midnight/

the evil that men do/

death wish 3/ Murphy's law/ assassination/

death wish 4 : the crackdown/ messenger of death/

forbidden subjects/ the indian runner/

death wish 5 : the face of death/

7. (porn)

young and naughty/ weekend delights/ unwilling lovers/ stripped for action/ vicious virgin/ barbara the barbarian/ a place beyond shame/ a climax of blue power/

caught from behind/ devil's playground/ dracula exotica/ dirty looks/ endless nights/ girls of the third reich/ getting ahead/ for your thighs only/

intimate lessons/ illusion of ecstacy/

lust at first bite/ secret desire/ platinum paradise/

ressurection of eve/ wild wild west/ three phases of eve/

scent of a woman/ perverted passions/ fringe benefits/ first time at cherry high/

behind the green door/ beyond fulfillment/

dark passions/

baby face/ hot lips/

8.

(letter)

cat vomit

still adorns

the antechambers of my house

a guzzling alien entity

waits with mock egyptian pride

for me

to feed it it's next poem

howareyou?

tellmewhatgoeson?

twentyone-round missile salutes

five underground nuclear detonations

and a hug

untilwespeakagain

9.

(single bullet theory)

entry wound: second world trade center/ high shoulder

exits through collective shame and latent paranoia, shaved chest/ mid-region/ around the second costal cartillage/ re-enters in open cavity way below colonial history/ scurries around only to dart out into the left ear of a laughing buddha/ muscles through and shoots off into the dark matter at the center of every universe/

10.

(letter, part two)

PS

send my love to Bobby Fischer

11.

(floating polystyrene tombstone)

remember my smiles

they are a now a big smile

in a face of stone

Scandinavellian

it drags on in skindergade/ old lullabies

and historic whispers/ all come together

it's night in the daytime/ and all

is let loose/ the cranes/ in frederiksberg

garden/ are jollypicking the quiet desperation

of a multitude of wheelchaired men

suddenly electrified by being subjected

to grace

water from boarded up kitchens

is instantly holified in the cup holders

two stories up/ in a house/ in another

part of town/ a silent prostitute

on creaking floorboards

returns to bed in amagerfälledvej

venetian blinds set with scotch tape

lightly adorns her persian rugs

in the universities/ students carry pillowcases

and heavy feathers/ into the dayful nighttime

haunted by vicissitudes of absent ghosts

in the city/ people stop inhabiting coffins

upscale graveyards are downscaled

into midscale real estate

kongens nytorv is up for grabs

but nobody knows

israels plads is given up

to a bilingual junkie

hc örsteds park is flooded by the city council

while the green grass/ of long forgotten

hunting grounds pushes through

sidewalks/ worn thin/ by the ambulance

of time

bicycles/ unknowingly/ jinglebelly in

the break of every dawn

in lustrous ouvertures/ the pavement

crack like glass/ at the feet

of the returning game

suddenly catapulted

into the highlights of contemporary obscurity

the fifth floors of nörrebro/ österbro

vesterbro/ frederiksberg/ valby/ vanlöse and

nordvest/ are no longer conquered

by her majestys regimented postal workers

they deliver their letters at home

to vary recipients/ sickened by this exaggerated

indulgence in correspondance/ and progress

and effort/ and the tiresome truth

that words carry on

from a dull microphone in griffenfeldtsgade

unplugged/ every syllable of every poem

from the beginning to the end

of the literary war/ is sung silently

as a hush

picked up only/ in a tower of prayer

discarded in a basement near mjölnerparken

and further out/ in klampenborg

in a heavily bejeweled tower of song/ that

bridges the precipice between two soggy mounds

it's bells hanging on the outside/ like tangents

for the deer and the rabbits

and the hedgehogs to cross and play on

the sparrows prepare their beaks

at blågårdsplads/ by rinsing them

in glimmering crescents of reappearing light

the seas manufature comforting whimpers

as the waters refract

their golden hibernation

the fish parade from nordhavn to sydhavn

to christianshavn/ like underwater unicorns

to umbillically undulate at kanin ø

so it is time again/ you realise

for knippelsbro to never/ and always

lower it's corrugated body into the

ultramarine slumber

of an innercity basin

for langebro to unite/ and reunite

the anemic brick houses of amager

with the anemic brick houses of the city

in a two-way blood transfusion

time/ you think/ to realise

that the bridges are not really burning

but are merely obscured

by the return of the sun

soria moria gloria mundi

on a silverlined norwegian fjord
from waters deep below/ beams a light
from a hundred fish
turning their bellies up towards the sun
the blinded fishermen speak of stories
a timeless chatter
that rises up through corridors
all bent and twisted from neglect

norway/ they all begin
soon those sagas will be forgotten
and there will only be the tales
inscribed on your oily skin

norway/ they all continue
you fell by the sword too easily
and now you complain
because you are drowning in paperwork

another kind of man
should come from this
one that rises with the sun every morning
and holds the mountains like a crown
above his naked head

the andes/ the alps/ the rocky mountains

all this stone that has happened
will happen again
these mountains are also rolling
into history carelessly
to never talk of events transpired

but like neruda/ they also ask

what will come after the blood in the streets

what will come after the blood in the streets

FAIL POEM

the river pregnant with murky history
let's you into it's slipstreams and takes
you past undetonated WWII mines
tagged with random graffiti
"SEX" or
"HITLER WAS HERE"
past unstoppable alcoholics who vomit
incessantly on their flickering reflections
past street kids warming around
Mother Shipton's bonfire
throwing burning kisses at whoever passes by

{who ever passes by}

past scruffy looking druids scavenging the remains
of some crumbled financial tower

{avenging a holy trumpet}

past television personalities
still undiscovered
past unlit beacons and smiling nightmen
guardians of wheels and kegs
cobblestoned shouts of trade and misery

{carbon dioxide treachery, or the sun eclipsed behind a powerful mountain top}

past the oak and the old rock that you know so well
and the sleeping giant in the blueberry patches
past suburban residencies with fake cave paintings
adorning the hallways
curtains shut tight

{cursed sights}

past the garden animals
almost returning to grass again
the moss and the heath
the last line of trees

the open sea
the fog
and the new cities
quietly building within you

TREATY


Norway

soon

those old sagas
will be fossilised
so we can read them again

black scrolls
in another dead sea

our new skin

INVERTEBRAILLE # 2

why not

listen

to the tears

hanging uncried

behind your eye

spun

like silk

by something invertebrate in you

that believes

it still

inhabits a cave

Ode to an English beach

unable

to decipher
the love letters

sent by your precambrian self

you sit down with a pen
you imagine to be made
from frozen sunbeams
and write:

"consider/your next move with care/to think love and die/might seem pleasant /but/you will inevitably be driven back /into the sea/by a future self//if you see a way out/take it"

you post it to nowhere

the next morning

that never came

cannibal cooking class # 1

I look into a clock
that is a bird

stuffed
on a mantelpiece

it's wings fluttering
the seconds away
in a suspended afterlife



I have a rash

and dry out
only to ask:

can dust remember dust

ma jor qui

palma/ the singing belly vs the laughing heart. /santanyi - mondrago/ homes, heavens, mirrored images, rebirth, to roll out on a dragon's tongue made of stone/andratx - sa coma/ the enormous transcendence of a person daring enough to withdraw from it's own creation only to take part in another's /deià/ hymns to jesus sung by donkeys on twisted sugar tops of adoration/fornalutx/ an orange orchard for every gravestone/es capdela – calvia/ people springing out of and overgrowing their prophecies, purity as an egg on a dried-out river bank, or a ball of mud trickling down a stream of painted diamonds/

banyalbufar – sa calobra/ signs pointing to shangri-las eaten by thick layers of fog, time gnawing away at the weathered rocks leaving a garden/formentor/ cliffs orchestrated by goats, beaches left beautiful by the absence of sun-worshippers/magalluf – portals nous/ breathe out and disappear, or reappear, in the image of me riding an electrical bull that is whipped by a sleepwalking audience, car keys rattling as they walk away unecstatically into the night, missing their boats and yachts by just a step, washing up on the before empty beaches smiling, the next day/

Decorating the core

at the core/ that which is resting at the core/ next to/ nothing
else/ this very thing at the core/ which we need know nothing
about/ that we decorate/ and make up/ to resemble that which
rests outside/ this very thing at the core/ that sparks/
and thinks to be a bonfire/ but also is unknowing/
and wants to know/ nothing/
has begun/ to move/ further in/
to what/

being begin being

the newspaper is lifted by the passing wind

and emits a tiny flutter

a powerless front page

with no desire to be read

is forced into importance

by the wind

who can't reach the funny pages

without eyes

i am here

by what power am i here

it says

or it is written by the wind

with every breath

WOLF POEM

head past the wife the man the little one

the brother and sister sleeping the

nightwatchman sleeping the town crier sleeping

go to the fields the woods the clearing

the mountain with the fire tongue the iceberg

head past the country doctor on a routine assignment

the landscapers the forest ranger and the crackling bell tower the rural minimalist painting extinct sunsets at the benefit of readily tired benefactors

the artisans the innkeeper's gluttonous glare

the drunken people sleeping head past the fairy queen dressed as a snail the faun sucking on a dry pipe the rat and the squirrel king fighting arduously over a frozen pea the tempest owl beckoning kisses with it's rotten beak

go to the last ocean the bottomless pond

the empty car park at the end of the land

go to the real wilderness there is no hunger