J(e)une Oslo

October 17th, 2013

An old homeless man clipping his nails
on the park bench,
observed carefully by a one eyed
dog chewing on a stick
of a birch

A dirty, close to carnal death,
woman slumbers past first
warm beams of the year,
a mongrel pigeon picking the remnants
of  last night, scattered on the
cracked pavement

Collect the ghosts, spectres, heart pieces
Assemble lost ones,  never have been ones,
random obscure ones,
sacred in bullshit ones

Have them disorder the pace
of the water,
build a power(of )less plant on banks
of a forgotten river,
have them pour their liquids out
on the joint screws

Have them group their spills
into the buckets of inception

Uncheck the locks
and let it roll

May the flow produced incite
all the church organs of the city
to start at nine,
peak at noon,
hold the drone for the rest of
the day,
open up a sky
at midnight,
so that the stolen parts of
their lives, their dreams,
the stolen spirit of their
comes flowing down the
roaming pipes

Let the city drink it
Let them get soaked to the edges of their skin

Give them all the night
to celebrate

Move away at six in the morning

Here – three immeasurable hours
for the unbeen of the world
to come and take a chance.

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