From pieces


here’s two more thoughts: what if this is a non-verbal & pre-language conditioned dilemma what if all choices are progress out of prolonged girlhood into womanhood


hans heste går om ham som en fane af blod og vejrtrækning du ved det, du kan bare ikke gribe det du rækker ud og de bevæger sig baglæns deres store kroppe skræmmer dig du taler ikke deres sprog du ved ikke hvordan man kalder dem til sig du begynder forfra på en fortælling: ned ad grusveje op over pløjemarker opskræmmer fasaner kravler ud gennem vinduer i sommernætter hænger hestehud herinde i faner spændt ud mellem facaderne saltvandet stiger op over kantstene, fortove. trappestene stiger ind i opgange stiger alt med sig aberne klamrer sig til hinanden. hvor hovedbanens bygning…


animal nature new year (2010) he’s one of the men i met at a new year party how you look like a sweet little cat with sweet little paws you lick and wash your whiskers with he said. i raise my arm and slap him as hard as i can with my paw. oh hit me again he says and i raise my other arm that he grabs coming at him and bent it behind my back so i have to turn to easy the pain and therefore show him my rear  as the crowd counting down for midnight he…


— fatal child : sukkeret sunket brænder i maven du hører din vejrtrækning og isen under dig (synker)


beads   there’s hidden stars of bright days, as the tide of arctic   water you no longer see, still their lasting   impermanence  softening your heart; make it just calm enough   just enough beads for a trail to follow their being  as your path low, then   rising like larks  recurring in springs


beads   there’s the moon and the glowing flower cones of the chestnut’s replying there’s the sirens and a blushing arrives where the morning will roll in there’s a birthday you won’t attend touch and laughter you’ll rap in silk and ribbon lay down, next to a box of milk teeth, glass with coltsfoots shopping lists, wish lists receipts and savored place cards a tray of beads and friend’s spare keys; there’s an own life of each thing and a blessing in the innocence among them


beads   there’s the laughing spring sun and the powder of clouds softening the sugar light the haul of traffic reduced and the sirens continuing as a taken city’s wailing (her) cubs or lost children’s calling everyone in hiding, families in their pods, bellies to back or left entirely for second homes then there’s you and others, as broken beads mending our shape in splendid quietness 


beads   there’s the pull and the doubt the hight tide of wanting to leave and the low tide of wishing to stay there’s the hours as beads pushing against each other  their weight against your skin and the nearly painful pleasure  wearing them to bare oneself, in time becoming  your bow