things / ting

when I've been alone

for too long

                                  and that's an individual measure

things take on

personalities

or thoughts

and possible speech

as I donate

that gift to them

                                   this month's lost gem taken home

                                   to the haunted philosopher's pocket

                                   he who sees Arabs everywhere

                                   and calls them scaffolds

                              

                                   strange to think a clay siren

                                   was released

                                  - under the radar -

                                   into a blond crooner

                                   his sister holds it in her stainless steel hands

                                   those hands that scratched away at the blue

                                   of the sky until it fell like flecks of paint and

                                   silencing snow unaware blissfully unaware

                                   of the slow but steady unravelling of the horizon

                                   and what's beyond

                                   such is life

                                   I suppose

training them

is another matter

of dealing

with matter

temporarily bound

in the form of pencils

cups

lamps

brushes

skillets

and faucets

that's for the host of saints

of which I am not

a member

(blond or not)

når jeg har været alene

for længe

                                       og det er et individuelt mål

begynder ting

at få personligheder

eller tanker

og mulig tale

efterhånden som

jeg giver dem

den gave

                                         denne måneds glemte perle tages hjem

                                         til den hjemsøgte filosofs lomme

                                         ham der ser arabere alle vegne

                                         og kalder dem stilladser

                                        mærkeligt at tænke sig at en en sirene af ler

                                        blev sluppet fri

                                        - under radaren-

                                        ind i en blond crooner

                                        hans søster holder den i sine hænder af rustfrit stål

                                        de hænder der kradsede løs i himlens blå

                                        indtil det fald som flager af maling og tystnende

                                        sne uvidende lykkeligt uvidende om den langsomme

                                        men uophørlige oprulning af horisonten

                                        og det der er bag den

                                        sådan er livet

                                         antager jeg

at træne dem

er en anden måde

at omgås

materie

midlertidigt bundet

i blyanters

lampers

penslers

stegepanders

og vandhaners

form

dét for helgenernes skare

hvoraf jeg ikke

er medlem

(blond eller ikke)