the circus is in town

To regret
to look yourself in the mirror
to stare at your self
in the eyes
to remember the mumble
closing your eyes tight to put away the shame
you look away
but you still feel it
in your stomach
mixed with cupcake crumbs and oily pieces of chili
disgust and nausea
black nails and sticky trousers
rubber soles sliding over the concrete
Bourgogne and Beaujolais
Norwegian music to ease the way out
hand rolled exodus
of rats that never learned how to swim
a bunch of adjectives with no verb and no noun
misery
and company

late
very late at night
I talk my self into a hole

(sigh)

Bread crumbs on the kitchen table
A small finger in my hand
Two sad deep green eyes that I haven’t seen in to long
Endless cigarettes that chain-smoke my nights
A strangers voice whispering lalalas into my def heart
My dumb tongue stroking someone else’s yellow teeth
Shy trsitessa that stalks me from the door across the street
Shades of green
Worn out colors in my finger tips
Lost pieces of grass stuck to my new/old tennis shoes
Sleepy giggles
A sad roommate
An old love story
And endless rug of whys and why nots
Who cares
And maybe something exiting around the corner of a street I never walked

Platsic Toy Soldiers

I wake up to my aching head
to an empty heart
to white light piercing its way in to my eyeballs
to a fly buzzing around my left ear
I wake up and the desire of making something keeps me from going back to sleep.
I film it in my head
A shot of myself looking straight into the camera and saying
“this is me” white burn and... cut
Me again, in profile, I say “this is my reel” Stop motion animated rolls of film bury me in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... and cut.
I have a terrible hangover, as it fades away mild melancholy takes its place.
As I write a man is looking at me, he is curios and unfriendly.
We are all mixed
We all look straight into the void
Traveling at 30mph in a flying saucer over slumbered streets of broken baseball bats and untied shoelaces.
We are the ones,
the chosen ones who are aloud back into the city every morning,
expelled out every night
We look at the big buildings from across the river and wonder what the people who switch on and off the lights look like.
In the dark we all look pale
in the dark I touch my feet and think of naked children running in the snow.
Its the end of the summer
The howling season has started
the growing up
the smile killing
the beginning the brown
the end of the blue

Between 4 imaginary walls

I look into your eyes.
We are lying down on a bed on our sides. Your bed.
I start speaking to you in a foreign language.
I tell you that you are the most beautiful girl in this city.
That it seams you keep a frozen kiss of wind on your forehead.
That your eyes are like black holes that vacuum my soul.
You smile. You don’t understand what I say.
You can’t imagine how much I like falling in Love.

I try not to think about pain,
try to hold onto the moment, the perfect moment I’m trying to create.
But I’m a fatalist and a Romantic.
My imagination rushes off, escapes my fingers into the wild blue desert of speculation.
I feel the sand crushing us, spoiling the silence.
I turn around.
I want to cry but I know I won’t be able.
Ideally I would stand up, get dressed and leave.
Maybe this time I will,
to save us.