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