I lean back on my factory-fresh
Couch (that still smells of IKEA)
And turn that Jeff Buckley's Grace
Up so loud the cat escapes under

The bed; ears flat, wide eyed...
And remember. I flip through
My own history -forgotten love,
Nights of such beauty they

Forged themselves onto my
Mind. I see myself stronger;
Dumber. Rougher hands and
Mind.

I hear Chris Cornell and Tori
Amos in shared recollection.
I walked Oslo's paved streets
From a job I loathed.

But it was summer.
I was free.
I was a rock star waiting
To be.

I see hopes I had that remind me
It's not too late for that.
And begin to resonate with
This is your time.

This is when you choose your
Future. Choose.
It's never too late for
Anything.

Poet or not; sometimes the meaning you form
From my words sting.

Perhaps. Sound spoken; merely
The rythmic motority

Of a machine -broken pistons, freyed wiring-
That take kind thoughts clean and pure and dispense

Words that hurt like
Soap in
A baby's eyes.

Though the days still carry our
Memories of Summer, nights
Now promise elseness.  

Inside, parts of my confused
Self long for icy blue skies,
Air so crisp you can

Crunch it between your
Teeth and your love
For Norway.

Other parts long for the
Midsummer sun of a body
Chasing anything arctic

Away with the swift brush
Of a slim hand finding
A face it loves

In the dark. Arctic. Ice blood.
Snow flesh. Wanting nothing;
None closer than

Outside.
I don't want to love right now.
Just to get snowed in alone,

Hoping for the sound of
A shovel, yet wishing it would
Miss my heart

By the breadth of a hairline
Fracture in
Something frozen

**** well
Nearly solid, yet
Breathing;

Basking in
Sub-zero
Solitude.

In the space between
Your lips and your kisses
Are worlds unexplored.

Too tight for a quark to
Slide through.
A molecular mastodon

Universe of questions answered
With microscopic lies, such
As: Is it safe to lay my lips

Upon the warmth of this poet?
Yes.
Yes.

Yes, it is safe. He will never
Cheat. He will never
Lie, he will

Never hurt your
Feelings
Unintentionally.

What was I saying?
I don't know.

Your kiss has the same effect
On me as the act of walking

Into another room just to forget
What for.

Would I die a happy man
If I heard my name
Rumble across the Norwegian plains
And forest hills tomorrow?

Would I turn my back on all
That's mine; leave it untouched
And walk into arms
Of loving light and not look over

My shoulder?
Did I love?
Did I lose?
Did I laugh?

Did I scream?
I fought.
I sat at times and thanked.
For everything.

My hand never left my sword.
The other held glass, held pen,
Held breast.
My mouth held some of the rest.

I put pride and disappointment
In the eyes of my parents.
Put praise and curse on the lips
Of my brother,

Had many a friend, lost old,
Made new.
Did things I hoped I never would do.
Regrets like mine, are for the few.

I've seen shadows I cannot explain
Dance between trees in the
Morning hours. I've slept by a
Bonfire, face tickled by silken

Showers of morning dew, and
Knew that I didn't sit alone.
I've seen trolls hit by sunlight
Scream and turn into stone.

I've let myself down.
Put my name to shame.
My head has hurt many a girl...
But my heart has conquered worlds.

So I'll stand when I'm called
With my back straight as trees.
I've written my poetry,
Many a piece

That might live forever, unlike
My own coil.  
Buried deep within
Internet soil.

Some time in the future
When all that I know
Has vanished and died like
Last winter's snow,

And the sword that they bury
My bones with is less
Than rust coloured dust on the
Dust of my chest,

Some poem I wrote might
Oblivion resist.
...I hope to the gods it is
Better than this.

Coward sun
Hiding from a
Little
Rain

To Tina. Like so much else...


Fresh from ambulance; you're open inside.
Already scheduled for struma surgery,
Now hospitalized with unrelated wounds.
Slight brave smile and whisper *I really thought it was enough
Already...
I agree.

Fresh from surgery, brave but unsuccessful at concealing
Multible stabs with every movement
Yet in charge and control of your own, young life
With the unyielding authority of an assertive lil'-ol'-lady when
Demanding to work as if nothing.

Punctures still healing. The phone call comes.
I go to get you at work.
You wanted to work, but your legs don't work
So Alex and the girls close shop and cover you in a blanket of
Collegial Love.

Closed Due To Death in Family.

You haven't yet had time to feel fatherless,
All there is is shock and distance behind
A mask of masterly crafted concrete cored kevlar.
I carry your sorrow by our side to the taxi.
Slight brave smile and whimper I really thought it was enough
Already...
I agree.

This is a statue to your strength, young woman.
This is to record your struggles and blows so they may be held in
The eyes of contemporary poets and the
Cyberarcheologists of the future.

There's something behind your smile; bigger and braver and stronger
Than any man's testosteral ego.

It makes life.
It is a wing over everything.

The five ton cast iron sheet
Hit him above the hips.

His top half survived in hospital
For a few days.

Use certified utilities when
Lifting with a crane.

Don't use a knife for a screwdriver.
Don't challenge a step ladder.

Don't use your partner as a
Lever to lift your own ego;

The half that's left will only
Live for days.

I woke up feeling
The way I would
If you hadn't.

Years of support, care, selfless-
Ness rendered worthless;
An angry, mean man
Having always been just that
If becoming one
More than
Once.

Unarmed
Queen's protector.

I'm sorry,
Honey.

Cape North. Ocean surface
Dark as a drowner's despair
Hurling itself against itself
Upon; within and beyond itself.

You can smell the North Pole
On the wind's perpetual threat
Of storms so strong they carry
Ice in their harsh beings.

So unlike Warrnambool; emerald
Waves high-fiveing Australian
Rock over its own undeniable
Beauty. Silver edged green gems

Flowing as from a giant child
Emperor's slain piñata.
Scent of warm ocean rendering
Its perfection even to closed eyes,  

And I stand with one foot on each
Vertical edge of the world.
Thanking. Breathing. Watching.  
Praying to -and for- everything.

You are here with me. Like
Yellow on wasp; feather on bird;
The one thing added making
All else as graceful as itself.

That a lover,
(Poets, prepare,)

Might reply to your
Heart's semantic blood,

As
Such:

Stop using the word
"Love" in your poems.

Just say what you
Mean.

Just say what you really
*..."mean.

What you mean.
When you

Write
"Love.""

Don't worry, little friend.
Don't be so concerned.
Even flames bend
To see you unburned.

The clouds that cover
The blistering suns
Are the skies watching over
Our treasured ones.

So just go outside and
Dance in the rain.
You don't need to hide,
There's no danger or pain

That threatens you, child.
You are never alone.
You are safe in the wild;
Mother Nature is home.

I hammer will into wealth.
I harden principles,
sharpen my sense of
value.

wipe beads of sweat from
forehead and face, leaving
streaks of oil and blood upon
features

weathered by yesterday's
scolding self-loathing.
it took me nowhere.
gave me nothing.

I put chisel to the weld uniting
days past with those to come,
and divorce the need to
regret. to bang

my head against the wall of
who I once were.
the hurt I've dealt.
the stupid things a young man

can say under influence and not.
my whitest coals were the
trust I placed; the handle of my
hammer in the hands of

any authority seeming capable  
to swing it against an anvil
more often empty than not.
no more. not again.

I forge my own future.
breathing on hot coals, thrusting
raw metal into the red heart of
the fire.

this is my forgery.
I built it with my own two hands.
the only two
that may create within it.

Automn opens her eyes ever so
Slightly; earth toned irises within
The green mirror of a summer
Dozing off, her awakening reflected

In human breath now visible upon  
Chilled evening air, and
Lovers' fingers seeking closer
Shelter within the shared

Pockets of each other.
You ask what the doctor said,
But I have sweeter fish to fry
Than worry; such sensations

As the way your skin is the
Softest I have ever felt against
My own surface of scars and hair,
And how I'm looking forward to

October auburns, bronzes, yellows
And sepias. All in contrast to the
Whites and magnolias of the
Winter that follows their blossom,

And the excuses the coldness
In their wake presents to lean
Closer. Huddle up. Warm hands
Under garments, share blankets

With the least innocent of
Intentions. I love the subzeros.
Frost. Goosebumps receding under
A kiss. And another. And another.

I held her hair for her, and
Found poetry in the back of
Her head where more
Careful lovers
Have eyes.

I cursed the alcohol making
Her cheeks and heart wet with
Painful thoughts without
Root in reality,
But none of

My prayers could turn the
Wine to water, as grapes
Became teardrops in
Her blood.
So I carried

Her to my bed. On the
Side of my king sized
Compassion for old, old pain, I
Sat down and was
Silent until her

Heart followed my lead,
And my hand found the
Poetry, stroking it
Like a parent
Until

It no longer rhymed
Or made any sort of
Sad sense
At
All.

Work gloves are for winter.
It's time to grow thick skin
In our palms;
Red drops on white wood

Are sure signs of summer.
Soon splinters reach no
Nerves, knees become insensitive
To gravel and roof tile roughness

As our bodies learn the annual
Lessons many hearts fail to
Learn in a
Lifetime.

No wonder the barley is yellowing
In this heat. Surrounded by gold and
Green, I spread my arms. Lawn angel.

No one can laugh like children
Running through garden
Sprinklers.

***** nightmares, words whispered;
Arrows dipped in ego's blood
Shot with bows whittled from
Weeping

Willows.
Waking up, red wine
Eyed,
Mouths

Dry from the opposite of
Kissing,
****, we almost broke up
There, didn't we?

Yes. Now, standing alone before
Mirrors, wiping them clean with hands
Wet from regret, unearthing our
Images and trying to

Find them reflected as in diamonds,
Nickle plated gun metal, or something
Else, like the Mona Lisa's glass case
(And as bullet proof,) but seeing

Only the screen of an
Old, dusty tube TV showing
Re-run specials of the
Itchy and Scratchy Show.

Earth spinning beyond the
Speed of sound, and I cover
Dizzy ears and catch

Myself grinding my teeth
As if gnawing at my leg to
Free myself

From this pale blue
Ball and
Chain.

Uncross your arms. So I
May access your heart.

Smile, so our kisses fit.
I fell in love with you laughing,

Now look for things to laugh
About; there are plenty.

Save your tears for the hard, solid
Tragedies. I'll cry with you. Then.

I earn your trust just by
Breathing; so honest is my

Loving you. Uncross your arms.
Return my embrace.

Foolish, foolish girl.
You should know better than to
Gift swine with a lady's gems.

I would have drawn your tears  
Before you even knew my name if you
Placed your will in my

Two-faced hands. I have sides to me
That break beauty by habit,
That cannot be trusted with hearts.

Foolish girl. Others have wasted time
On me, then left. You should listen;
They were right to. I was there.  

Someone unknowing would say:
All men can be changed. They break
In the end... Get housebroken.

Someone knowing; knowing how some things  
Should hurt, would say: Let All Things Go
That Wish To.

Girl. So kind, so smiling to
Me from the outside, handing me a basket  
Cradling your every last egg.

Sunday afternoon.
Bus stop by the river. Two
Teenagers in love
Practice hugging between hugs.

Laughter.
Skin.
Red cheeks.
Frost breath kisses.

Wonderful to see the
World trying to
Be a world
Again.

Sub-zero city night.
Willows by the window facing
The nearby railroad tracks
Reflect little bolts of lightning

With their multitudes of
White, white crystal flowers,
As a train passes noiselessly by,
Leaving the children

Playing in the shoveled
Piles of
Snow, and us,
Bewildered.

Rain wet pavements are mirrors to
Yellow lights and subtle neon.
Click-clacks of women in a hurry,
Even the taxi drivers are too
Tired to use their horns.

Leaves the size of Samson's hands
Keep dropping around me,
Sticking to the ground
As if glued into the scrapbook
Of autumn.

Somewhere between cold and
Not. Winter and fall.
Morning and night.
Alone in a world full of others
Than me.

The handle of my
New knife
Didn't sit so well in my
Palm.

The blade sure did.

Resting my back against
A back resting itself
Against mine.

What was lifted from my eyes
That made the end of summer
Seem so bright?

This could be a hospital, but
There is good health and honest,
Unpaid care in the walls.

Wherever I am in a room
I can reach out and feel the
Warmth with which

A goddess would sign her
Every most self-mirroring
Creation.

Feeding me dinners, and gentle
Strokes on my arm by my
Side in the

Cinema, taking it easy. Talking,
Loving and getting to know.  
Slow. In and

Out of a place of light in weight
And colour, being asked nothing
But not asking,

And calmly, gratefully accepting
Carresses and other gifts.
Being given to,

By someone who loves to give.
Sometimes I have so much hope
For humanity.

Your legs slightly bruised
From twigs and tall grass
Belong in my lap

Where you wiggle your toes
With excitement
Over cold, sweet fruit salad

And the purples and crimson
Of sun-now-down
That evade the lens of your

iPhone through the window.
What? you ask half
Laughing at my smile.

It feels like before, I'm
Tempted to say. *I have nothing
More, Your Honour.

We sat together, but not like
Ever before.
Our Lady Peace on repeat.
I'd written a post for Facebook
About us being over.
Thanking.
Stating that we'd agreed
(Half a truth)
To end it.

I'd helped her write one too,
And counting down from three,
We posted.
Changed our statuses from In a
Relationship to blank.
Then stood up and
Thanked into each other's
Last embrace.

Flag up as we went down.
No loud voices,
Only this mutual sorrow
And chocked sighs.
It was done.

Something inside us both looked
Up and asked
What the Hell just happened?  
I heard angels moan no...
I felt Earth shiver
At our death.

She'd asked her friend later
If ending it in such grace was
A common thing.
"Girl, you just ended your first
Adult relationship."

And she did. With class.
Tears of gratitude
For years of passion and
Friendship, and the music.

*We are, we are all innocent.
We are all innocent.
We are.
We are.

Was all I spent on us wasted?
Every gravel-eyed morning
After another sliver of
Night's sleep,

Every hour hitting frozen
Fingers with a frozen hammer
In the perpetual winter-dark
City blizzards

While you slept?
I worked up a small fortune
To take us to where we
Almost got.

Was all I spent on us wasted?
Effort. Support. Selflessness.  
Time. Time. Time. Oh,
I learned nothing.

I'll give myself again. Be used and
Discarded again.
If either one of the smiles
I made you smile

Was a waste, then all
I did for anyone else
Was too.
I want more than most.

I need so much
Less
Than
You.

In the end, there's only one.
And the other.

I have never seen anything that
Deserved to starve.

No child, no animal.
No tyrant was born evil.

Let's dance, I say, though
None of us really can.

So we try, we try laughing,
And the walls, the ceilling, and by God

The floor laughs with us,
As we fool around like

Tiny Godzillas kicking down
Tinier skyscrapers, holding hands;

Dipping and twirling like the  
Innocent idiots we are.  

Playing. Like a god would create
Another to play with, and they   

Dance worlds into -and out of-
Existence. Not a single bacterium in

This room understands. So let it keep
Not understanding, and as we tire from

Moving and settle down together,
The rain has stopped doing its

Thing, and I point without pointing;
Say without a word:

*Look at that drop, hanging from the
Twig at the end of the branch of that

Willow. And the other. That's me. And
Me. Look until you can look no

Longer. I saved them both for your
Eyes.

In my eyes, an eye for another
Is fuel to the funeral pyre.
Yet my hands long to
Rip heart from chest;
The soul from the flesh,
And toss the rest on the fire.

Innocence, the least deserving
Victim. Cut, shot, burned alive.
Where is the real Heaven?
It sure as Hell hasn't pulled a
Trigger, or a blade
Across their lifelines, the
Little carriers of
The only actual holiness there is.

I have 132 child shaped
Holes in my heart.
How can I fill them with other than
Anger? Disbelief?

I don't care where you are from.
Your religion, philosophies.
There are no greater sins  
Than those against children.
No God, only demons and devils
Behind your hideous actions.
I want. To ****. You.
Does that make me 'no better'?

If so... I don't care.

The smallest coffins are
The heaviest.

May our shoulders hurt
For aeons.

The prices of food in Norway
Are so high now, an honest
Construction worker has to

Rummage around in expired-  
Dates bins and good value
Shelves

Not to get broke on
Pay day.
I used to hate it; feeling

Poor. Now it's a sport.
Working Man vs.
System.

Thank God my father
Makes beer and wine.
He grew up in post WWII

Norway. Flee market ninja.
Never seen a credit card bill.
Chain saw samurai.

We grew up warm in winter.
Never went to bed
Hungry.

Not too many toys.
Patches on the knees of all
But our Sunday best pants.

Thank God for the high
Prices in this
Country.

They teach us to calculate.
To treat foods and things
With the respect they deserve.

I can be an angry man.
Dead things that won't do as I wish
Tend to break.

Leaving behind a wake of
Fractured drywall and
Nervous cats,
Band-aided knuckles and
Bared bone,
I scare others. Hurt myself.

It's a family curse.
Our men are fiercely fuelled, have
Little patience for slow movers,
Rude tones, spite.
Grenades of muscle and noise
That explode in the faces of
Disrespect, then stand
Alone in craters
And regret.

Thank the gods we love with the same
Intensity.

Such a cloudless summer day
In the city.

Ice cream weather girls
Caught me winking back;  

Always looking for a smile
To kiss.

I promised myself I wouldn't drink
This morning, but
Ring of Fire was playing on the
Radio as I showered.

I guess we shared some demons, J.
Well, here's to us. To how
My father played your songs
For me when only my mother's

Skin and bones were between us.
Here's to you and me, John.
How I cried when June passed, but
Drank to your joining her. To

How you boom-chika-boomed to
The taste of the ice cold beer on her
Warm lips in New Orleans
As we stopped among the piles of

Katrina rubble just to take it all in
(Including each other);
That we were there. Together.
Here's to you, John. To how Rick

Rubin was a prophet sharing your light
One last time with the humble masses
Before it went out. As it should be. As it
**** well should be. To

How my father loved you his whole life
And never got to shake your hand
(But I brought him to meet Willie,
Which was almost as intense to the old man.)

No rest for the wicked, John. So I'll
Never pray that you rest in peace.
I pray that you rock on -June at your
Side- Going to Jackson, when it's

Springtime in Alaska. Remembering
Forks wedged in the walls of San Quentin
And gritty glasses of water served.
I'm putting on my black shirt after

This drink. Then guitar, boots that could
Kick out the foot lights at the Grand Ole,
And an attitude I've adopted with honor.
Here's to us, John.

Walking the
God-
******
Line.

On my every birthday
I give my mother
Flowers.

I stood alone. In moonlight merging with
Drizzles of local Roman rain dancing through the
Hole in the dome.
Barely making out the history on the walls,
Yet feeling the weight of the one in them with every cell of my
Insignificant blink of self.

Ten seconds between lights killed and the
Impatient guard's signooooore...

During those I was there.

For Tina.

I feel it now.
It started as a recognition
Deep in the gut;  

A conquistador caught and
Sacrificed by liquid gold -greed-
Poured into ungagged mouth.

Scolding Hell's Pain *forced inside,
To guild everything unguildable until all
That was left was water and gold.

Improvement, for short.
I try to stretch my arms across the
Bed, from my side to what is

Undeniably still yours.
It is too wide a sky. Too wide to cross,
By foot and healing heart.

she guides my hand towards
her chest.
opens up with a sigh and
leads my fingers to her
crusted heart.

here. tear off these scabs so
I can bleed the
wounds
clean and let them close up
as smoothe scars
instead.
I refuse to hurt by
other hands than
yours.

this is love.
there are no band-aids
here.

I have missed you
Since the birth
Of Sound.

You were
First. Of
All.

I have never experienced
such a strong
friendship
within a
relationship.

Eyes wet to the brim,
then relieved by birthing
tears; one chasing
another down
skin that's as smoothe as
running one's palm carefully
across the surface of a
forest pond so silent it's
warmed by even the
moonlight.

First I think she's moved by
loving me; saying I'm more
than she ever dared dream of.
then I realize she's speaking
of nightmares she has about
losing me; waking up to my
things and I not
being there,
and those tears stop as I
hide her face against my neck,

listening to the fearful ripples
in their body of salt and
sadness inside a heart that
doesn't know that it needs
not be half empty
any more.

Bleeding ears from smiling
Too wide.

Her ribs get startled at times;
Her heart is that light.

Where are you? I ask.
Pick me up with your attitude,

Give me a ride out of this
Dark, downwards town;

Furious with fumes and
Fright fuelled fear of

Abandonment.
I need to see it

Rear view mirrored. Appearing
Closer than it is.

Threat of rain.
grey skies like the lid of
a kettle from below.
clouds are ice from a
fish eye perspective.
I'm heading for the mountains
after work.

bringing little more than
good boots, a solid knife,
my best friend and his
owner.
love on four legs.
smiles behind every bark.
ears flapping with his running
free; scouting. herding us
through passes, across creeks.

my heart is a happy dog; stick
in mouth, world of new scents.
bonfire dreams, tapping of rain
on built shelter.
bidding the city adieu.
for days, all I can see will be
beautiful.

She smiles as if she has her whole  
Entire being in the cookie jar.

I laugh from my spine, as the wheels
In her pretty, dark-humoured head

Visibly turn within some sweet, twisted
Process. She speaks with the wit of a

Secret agent; the vocabulary of sailors
And intent of someone like Skeletor.

Her mouth is an instrument from which
Poetry as the opposite of itself sounds;

From where come words that make me
Either thrilled to talk back, or blush. The

Less you care together, the happier you'll be.
She smiles like that. I'm loving this lesson.

Unclench your grip
Around your own
Being.

Relax your jaw.
Your shoulders,
Your

Breathing. Slow and
Deep. Let life
Inside.

Lean. Sink. Merge.
Nothing needs your
Support;

All is here for yours.
Nothing on Earth isn't
Furniture.

It was a stressless
World. Before
Man.