Tagged fruit


08.08.13 1.00pm dear anna. lately i have had nightmares. wake shivering — can i come see you? when will you have time. how are you? i miss – you – nothing — no writing — words disappeared inside — circulate in the body — like breathing: breath in a n n a breath out d e a r breath in a n n a breath out d e a r 09.08.13 6.00am nightmare — twin girls — one fell into the sea and were lost — unable to make it home — she forgot who she was and became homeless…


–eller hvis jeg siger: danmark er vold. mod landskab og vildheddet er drab af grise og andet godtfolkdjævleuddrivelse til kollektivt vanvidmin søstermin søster jeg ser dig


hvis du er syg, skal du være sammen med dyr. hvis der ikke er nogle (levende) dyr at være sammen med, kan du prøve at spise nogle døde. hvis du ikke har det bedre, næste dag, kan du tale højt. de vil høre dig –du kan starte med:


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


beads   pinõn and blue jay ants and rabbits  are visiting this morning  they’re there before you open your eyes when you do their desert fragrance lingers  as a thoughtful gift from friends recognizing  your flickering attention, your childish wailing as plain  homesickness;    beads of sap slowly solidifying   dripping from your branches