M(a)y Oslo

October 4th, 2013

Thoughts that will be forgotten in a glass of bitter beer
Sentiments  never, almost, felt again as whisky
warms up between your palms

Words deleted, wine turning to acid

Chosmos and the river running through
the heart of the city – as dead as the anger, the river –
absent of fish, bugs or plants,
only the lame duck stupid duck
crossing it
above and besides the waste floating
while joggers pass by, oblivious to the
end of the day,
that has already sprung
already spread its wings

Bite off the fat, crunch the onion,
swallow the vodka,
digesting nostalgia with a piece
of black bread

Let the water become silent

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