From February, 2016


en slags mænd i skjorter med lange sørgetunger om halsen og manchetknappernes figure lyner i solen — detonerer bag øjnene alle tilstedeværende er levende — der også er døde en dag                                                                 at kroppe har ebbe og flod,                                                                  at…


— today the water were quiet. low, revealing ice on the steps and railing håret, der flød ud over puden


— today the waves were high. i dared not go in   i brændingen brødes tanker    


— today corrals grows out of my chest.  they start as itching rash — resembling that of — sore swollen girl nibbles that will develop to breast between the body’s age of nine and twelve years old (1984 until 1987*) — today corrals grows out of my chest — breaks through the surface of my skin like a sea disappearing — they heap up through this tide — a burial shrouds on my body. rise and fall with the breath and corrals emerge — more — for each exhale. for you. for you