Skru på litteraturen

the cranes stand among the stalks, stand on one leg.
oh, the worst borders on the best.
we don’t understand ducks.
 
emotion seeping through the skin of the face.
oh, the worst borders on the best.oh, the worst borders on the best.
recycling just happens.
 
when wounds are scars are questions asked?
the council’s job is to create potential.

the grass rhymes with the thrush from last year.
you love four words. time to update.
the bounds of futility’s grounds run down the hillside.
 
in this country people are too rich for change.
on the day the wind crutches the going.
no one saw him follow me.
 
and this, as other rooms, a promise like a door.
ooh.
temples in ruins / two sisters, the tomb / the flight to egypt.
 

you usually adorn you with me,
you are a gift to yourself.you are a gift to yourself.
halting as monday morning.
 
oh, do not feed the birds in flight.
give us your thoughts and we can create a better experience for you.
to speculate on appropriating the possible and non-existent.
 
you are the lost property office for stolen glances.

and silently they evaporate, thoughts once rigid as old hinges.
make the fear of god from mirrors and rope.
whether one must be poor to be rich.
 
emotion seeping through the skin of the face.
the magpie torments the cat for fun.
save the king, offer your horse!
 
in other words, feelings can get up, come in!
with motivation and strength anything is possible.with motivation and strength anything is possible.

people have feet and mouths.
the sound of voices, roaring of animals.
well, shall we go out?
 
luckily you are not like life.
do you perhaps fathom … the mariana trench. a profound poem.
oh, men grow older, fat eats their features, they look like children.
 
the sun digs coal – no cola!
(diminish the role of noise without yelling).

what matters must be fought for.
people change size just before they fall asleep.
looks like a tumbledown ski-jump hill, provincial norway.
 
animals mimic each other, and people.
humming of the rain when the heavens reel by.
whether one must be poor to be rich.
 
make the fear of god from mirrors and rope.
longing comes carrying a shovel for its burial.

the shadow on the snow, laden with glances.
make the nectar of the gods from liquid that won’t run.
the magpies hop through the veranda door, eat the candle wax, steal everything.
 
rain or snow, somewhere in the kidneys.
longing comes carrying a shovel for its burial.
thought is sacred.
 
whether one must be poor to be rich.
in other words, feelings can get up, come in!

ah,so charles darwin invented the modern office stool.
oh, the singing, swinging finch.
to roll down the arms and get a grip.
 
in the unicorn’s corner, polar bear, cod and giant panda.
is it all a mystery? no, only what has no answer.
the ghosts live so close to us.
 
outside the leaves are glowing, rosy cheeks.
to be chased by wild boar on a souped-up moped.

finally, moderately, truly without u.
skullcap = icecap.
i go by my watch.
 
to picture something that isn’t there, calls to mind.
to live close to death is only practical.
admissions are on a mission,we lock them up inside us.
 
to be chased by wild boar on a souped-up moped.
oh, you spoilsports, turning out the lights.
shifting voices blow by and into the stillness.
 

no regrets.
in poor condition, sanded down, powder sent off, into the wind.
the biggest questions are not vague.
 
the years leave a thin film of rime.
everything you’ll actually never experience again in a cloud.
out of silence come dreams.
 
and it came to pass one morning you were: forgotten.
one day more, mum, one day more, dad.