Category: Poetry

When I’m happy
my brain gets creative
and makes jokes.

When I’m anxious
my brain panics and
hides behind jokes.

Good luck guessing.

I long to be wanted
wanted by someone
else than the law

The best thing I know
Is writing in a flow
To enter into fiction
Without contradiction
Expanding my dreams
Without any seams
Dissolving my entire self
To coagulate in my shelf

You perceive me
as a curve,
but to me
I’m just an equation.

Poems are fleeting and eternal. Sharp shards of reality, lacerating splinters of fiction. Fluttering into existing before they are written, stuck in amber once sheathed in words.

Poems are heartpiercing asomatic bloodinjecting reverse-leech entities in symbiotic relationship with corporeal beings that possess at least some kind of rudimentary language.

Poems are. Both, either, neither – catuskotic. Trouble, comfort, brazen, chaste, chaotic, controlled, sparse, dense, sparse and dense, opaque, archaic, original, intense, nonsense.

I lost my phaze, I’m disturbodied, I walk like amother, the needless in my language appoints to red, I dream of talking dog-gods, I survive on amino acid supplamentings, I ridle the lightning-wave of the missilent mygrains, I subduel the statictrical chaos awry moonment.

Small dark fishes are chewing on my heart. I see parts of me float with the bubbles. Ascending to the surface. To the waiting birds. I can not stop the decay. I am the weight that keeps me down. The fish keep chewing on my heart.

I’m neurons firing in the golden halls up high. I’m hormones reigning in bloody hell. I’m the salty tears from the currents and chemicals of Sodom and Gomorrah. I’m the coalesced sentry of the connectome adrift in a forest of nothing.

If you were on Venus
Earth would look
like Venus does
From Earth

Inspiration is an endless ocean
I’m a nuclear submarine
Going deeper, the hull will buckle
Sonar or later

I dream of visiting Arrokoth
To reach the outward bounds
At the hem of the flowing skirt
Of our dancing mother Sol

Friendship sails on ebb and flow
no matter wind and rain.
But skerries and reefs
not marked on the charts
takes their toll –
thrash the bow and the keel
until we have to let go.

I still can’t let go
that she rather wanted
a blank notepad
than a book with my words.

Ket her off and cock mah fire to incubinah che seed and give burath to the far it that need satch a method with all ye sodden male cuts!

I always think naked
Thoughts, that is
They should always be nude
Running wild and free
Flopping and flabbing
With joy and curiosity
Don’t dress your mind
Be naked inside

You don’t have to be perfect or be balanced and under control. You don’t have to be walking through life playing a role. Cause your virtues and vices are inseparable and any emotion is true. It’s how you handle your imperfections that decides what I make of you.

I’m getting a tattoo to explain it all.
It says: “Nagu+Fuck“.

The blessed lizard running for ages inwards my bra in an inspiring key to us.

It’s all symbolic, of course.