yes I like to fuck sometimes
but it’s not religion
it’s all the same isn’t it
the same conversations
the same politeness
the same relief
when you hear the
door close
and the steps fade away
in the stairwell
the same fulfilled but empty
mind, watching the
snow fall over her
as she walks
across the street
towards a future
you know
you’re not gonna
be a part of


**

being a cosmonaut
or whatever
and being lost in the bedroom
thinking about the poems
I never wrote
thinking about the
faces I never saw
entangled in a web
of meaningless stars
glowing
over an empty city
choking on
the crystallizing patterns
of a tomorrow
already lost


**
 

the greyness and boredom
of winter in Skåne
there is no real winter
 here anymore
just silence
and vast grey skies
and people walking the streets
on their way
to whatever
they are on their way to
I feel like an organ
maybe a liver
or a kidney
lying in a bird’s nest
waiting
to be eaten by the
hungry gods
without faces
and without
presence