Like water out of a hose,
filling up the buckets for the horses,
the years flow,
life rising to the rim,
overflowing

and I can't reach
to moderate the flow;
not by meditation,
not by exercise,
not by sleep;

only by the decomposition
of this soft machine
will the world vanish

The morning after
the Sörfligget Mountain cave search
my heart is beating slowly and heavily,
like an infra rhythm
deep in the confines
of a power plant rock casing

It takes immeasurable spiritual strength
to regard this soft machine
as anything other
than a decomposing
world part,
quite similar
to a heap of apricots
left on the kitchen table;

this soft machine
left on the world scene