Pain is inevetable.
Suffering optionable.

I will lay my mouth upon
This band-aid and whisper

A kiss of comfort into it.
*It only hurts if you pull

The poet off slowly.

Unearthed,
Broken hearts by the millions
Unnerved,
By the sounds of so many tears
Understood,
Everyone has felt this way
Lost loves,
Dying in our minds for millions of years

Earthed,
Secrets within revelations.
The numbers of stars, yet as
Concealed as them all; how
Something as bright as light can be
Hidden behind the undarkness of
Day.
All human tears are not the results
Of crying.
All human tears are the same one. One
Water.
Life. Pain. Laughter.
Pain. Life.
Earth cares as little as soil.  

And yet the Earth is filled with laughter
Tears
Pain and life.
It knowing not the difference is beyond the point
Caring,
That the light we can all bring
To shine shadows upon this unforgiving ground
Then the sound of the last tear drop
Shall bring the endless cycle to a stop.

Spirals cycling endlessly
In optionable directions.
Dancing or
Duelling. Loving or
Lying. Living or dying
Trying, crying.
Waste not heart's blood on
Grounds. All it takes is
Enough breath to clear
The skies.
It's only life, mother.
Weep not for my death;
Laugh that I lived.
A thousand hates, yet the
One love I shall recall.
I name no flying
To fall*.
When I smile, my tears
Quench my thirst.
Endless cycle.
We can all choose to
Spiral
Upwards.

My father gave me the
Last of his wine.
Thus leaving the rest of that
Habit behind.
His eyes, once blue like skies
Over sea,
Were grey with regret when
He gave it to me.
The older you grow, the
Better it sits,
The bitterness clouding both
Wisdom and wits.
I'm glad he won't know
How well I understand
How much the bottle can
Steal from a man.
If anything's off in your
Body or soul,
If angry or lonely or
Not feeling whole,
The first things to toss so your
Boat doesn't sink,
Are the barrels and bottles marked:
Too Much to Drink.

Yesterdays have no rights.
Not a single moment
Ever as lucid as the
Now.  

Elusive memories, thin,
Transparent sheets of
Recollection.
How did

Last Wednesday feel?
How much love is left from
My first tingling teenage kiss?
Wind, fallen leaves

From a long forgotten
Decade, torn; crumpled
Numbers in a kitchen
Bin.

So sweet now, my life.
My life.
Held by stronger foothold,
Rested warm with woman,
Goosebumped from kisses fresh
From lips tasting of
Love that longs to outlast itself.
Sweet. So sweet.

I have a shell of angels' wings to
Warm my infant human heart.
A cage of their swords' steel to keep
Any threat of real nature

Off my path. I fear not Sister Death.
Not even destructive criticism.
Leave me. Ridicule me.
Lie about me.

Nothing changes within me, I'll  
Only grow more undaunted.
For I have my eyes fixed on the
Above.

A dome. Of sky. An ever changing
Painting reminding me that rain, thunder,
Rainbow or clearest blue, sky remains
Sky;

I remain
*I.

It's a long enough train to fit
7,248,075,000 passengers. And
Counting.

Seats added with every
Birth. By now
Most

Wonder whether it'll
Ever be slowing down to
Stop. And what

To do when
The doors
Open.

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To not chase away,
But embrace the heaviness
That weighs down your

Heart and feet.

Sometimes it's good
To be sad.
To rest your head in a
Warm lap, allowing tears to flow,
And loving fingers to

Find them.

Laughter is the strongest
Medicine on Earth.
Fourteen ****** when
You might have
Needed
One.

Is
Everything.

We knew nothing of war, we were
Brought up in peace.
Those days were a different
Colour than these.
We played in the fields,
Built houses in trees.
Few children on Earth were as
Lucky as me.

So distant, the light of
Yesterday's skies.
But I remember Paradise.

The smell of her neck, her
Hair in my face.
We'd lie there and stare into
Outter space.
We'd hide from the world, but
The world knows her heart.
She found us together and
Ripped us apart.

So distant, the home that I found
In her eyes.
But I remember Paradise.

I love to look back, but I need  
Not to pine.
Yesterday's carved in the
Backbone of time.
Pearls on the seaside,
Reflecting the past.
More solid than gold are the
Memories that last.

Smoke might rise from tomorrow's skies.
But yesterdays hide not a single surprise.
Time is a hawk, and despite how she flies.
I'll always remember Paradise.

I have sides to me as
Dark as the
Devil. I deal with
Demons like
Drugs;  

Always dropping
One, adopting
Another.
Don't dream of
Me. Keep the light
On.

My heart rooms
A thousand angels.
They love you as
One. Don't be blown
Too far away by the

Wind of their wings
Keeping my feelings
Afloat.

To be human is to be
The good kind of evil
Or opposite.

All shades, all colours,
Tutti Frutti; aeons of
Flavour.

All that matters
Is the honesty with
Which you embrace
Your own multitudes.

Both feet in Hell, head in
The Heavens,
One hand on either side
Of your heart; keeping
You safe from extremities.

You will cry. Oh, you'll
Cry, looking around
To see if anyone else
Has ever felt as loved,

As guarded.
Carried by angels,
Protected by demons,
Kept warm by the man
Who tamed them
All for
You.

That
Toddler
On her mother's

Back just shot her
Big blue eyes into
The base

Of
My soul's
Spine.

And
Smiled.

God,
God.

Is
Vacation.

Your past is your story.
I will never demand you
Rip a single page
From it.

I'm a very big boy.
Tales of your yesterloves
Scare me as little as
Anything;

Only hurt as much
As they should.
Never burn a picture
To please me.

Never paint over a
Secret, never camouflage
A single regret as
Bad luck.

Skeletons. Dust and bones,
Dead and harmless.
Tell me everything.
Unsensored;

No blur nor bleep.
I want to know
What shaped you into
Someone so

Deserving of my
Interest. Let me into
Your attic. Turn out
The lights.

I'm a very big boy.
Even my ghosts are
Scarier than
Yours.

I wish I hadn't made those friends
That my mother didn't want me to
(As if their mothers didn't warn them
About the likes of myself).

I would have stayed on the path
To a doctor's in psychology,
Not ending up in construction;  
I'd be neither broke nor bleeding.

I wish I had been convinced as young
That brushing your teeth properly
Will save you hours of working
Your hands to shreds to pay the dentist.

I wish I'd never gotten any of these
Tattoos. That "home made scarification
Is cool only before the infection,"
Was as given to me at thirteen as now.

I wish I'd fallen so in love with my
First girlfriend that we'd be married
With children+dog today, knowing only
The love of each other's.

I wish I hated whisky. That my
Fuse got longer with every stout  
Consumed. And with that, the certainty
That I never could dance. Jig. Ever.

I wish it was all different.
I'd have nothing to sulk about alone
In a double bed. No foot-in-mouth
Memories to still bring me shame,

No failures. No mistakes.
No painful blows or signs of poor
Judgement. Nothing to fret over.
No blame to give myself.

Nothing to cry until I shiver about.
No caring hands to have to live without.
No lost love's name to whisper,
Moan. Shout.
           Nothing at all to write about.

Headlining monsters smiling at
News cameras; lacks of
Regret framed with
Blitzes and the
Disgusted attention
Of normal people.

Parents making each other's
Tears their own in
Disbelief, as children in
Hidden rooms
Search for the soft comfort of
Their inner

Teddy bears while pointing at
Dolls in the hands of
Patient professionals.
There? OK. And...
There? Caring strokes on
Innocent hair.

You're doing fine,
Darling. A wounded
Feather finally rested in a
Nest lap. *You're
Doing just
Fine.

My brother was three
I five
My father had
The money to spare

Bought us toys
Unannounced

Nothing big
Treasures yet
Beyond adult
Imagination

Guns
Tiny pistols
One themed Batman
One Pink
Panther

The tired young father
Never forgot my brother's
Little hand around
His piece of innocent
Hardware
Fast asleep

Not letting
Go

So

Tell me if I love you
Too fast
Too
Tight

My hand is on you
Always

Now

Vikings making sacrifice to the gods
Would put their two best black stallions
In a brutal fight. Winner of the two
Was to be given.

Horses of such potential quality were
Often gifted to wealthy infants at the time
Of their first tooth. Slaves were also given,
For luck in life,  
And such gifts were called
*Tooth Fairies.

Today was a good day.
I had one worry; it died.
My soul lost weight; my heart
Found its way back up
From the bottom of my belly.

That, and the sun
Shone all day.
We're not spoiled with that
Here in the semi-arctics.

I didn't go hungry for a
Split-second.
I laughed until I cried
Several times at work.

Every face I saw on the street
Had a feeling of friendliness
To it.

With days like these; who needs
Dreams?
I'll sleep like a fat, old cat tonight.
Content and unafraid
Of tomorrow.

Waves form within a
Man alone in silence.

Wind moves old wood in
Walls. I close my everything.

The two sides I see of
All I see, meet.

What's a spark or two
Between good swords?

Sometimes I agree to dis-
Agree with either me or my-

Self; the first thought I think
Is rarely the thing I think I'll

Believe. Will this **** me?
No, it'll be with you forever.

A samurai's infant children's
Eyes begging him to reach

Down before he leaves again,
To kiss. But no. So rigid

Is my will to live; to draw from
Everything, life.

Ed Sheeran, wine, candles
And cheese.

It doesn't -by the gods- get
Better than this, I think

To myself. So she clears her
Throat quietly, and

Sings. Softly
Along.

Here. brush and palette.
paint us on the
walls of tomorrow's
universe.

bright colours, please.
I didn't walk this far
to darken.
paint us

smiling. laughing. content.
believing. no prayers on
knees; no coin wet with
wishing well water.

all we need is imagination
and faith.
bellies made for butterflies;
skin for tingling.

life is meant for risks.
we only live a thousand
times.
look.

this fantastic view shows
nothing unsoft. I didn't climb
this high not to
jump.

Sober weekends last
Longer.

We go to bed early
To read.

She's lit a scented candle
On her bedside table.

Shadows dance on print.
I lean without moving,

Against her tempered softness.
All is *pillow.

Your speaking in your sleep
Keeps me up all night trying to
Remember that favourite song
Of mine that your ****
Voice reminds
Me
Of

Girlfriends are real
Demons at
Times  
Hell might be
Heaven  
Men may
Be right

But nothing hurts when
You love
Enough
Just be
Laughter

Lighter things
Feel like love and
Lightness
Audience
Lucky as all others who know
This
Is
Unfear
We happen
Now

A part of me needs to sleep
That never has.
The thought keeps the
Rest of me awake
At night,

A grown man reaching out for
Something to be weak against,

Something bigger than a teddy,
Smaller than a bear.
Something that knows, and has room.
That sees, and has patience,  

That whispers against
Some part of my softest, innermost;
That there are no needs for
Control on my part.
For now, I have

Only one responsability:
To breathe. Just breathe
Until all my senses withdraw
Into the comforting shell
Of covers, sheets

And a presence that knows
The language of Guardian,
And sings it to me
Until every shard and sliver
Of my being unfolds
Into relief.

Brother moon.
ruler of the clear
winter morning
sky, rubbing the tired from
my eyes on the way
from bed warm with
woman to
construction site cold with
concrete and
sharp with
coffe brewed by
callused
hands for effect rather than
enjoyment.

it's monday, brother moon.
but your ring of halo
reminds me
that christmas -its opposite-
is as close now as a
mother's heart
to her soft, sleeping
infant, upon entering its
bedroom
beneath your guarding,
gentle
gazes.

I am in such a
Lack of pain right
Now.

Thank the
Gods I am still
Learning to
Write

An end to this
Humbleness would
End
Me

I have never
Been better
Than any-
One

Except the proud
Stubborn
Un-
Poet

First draft.*


My mind is a garden
Overgrown.
Flowers give way to weeds.
I used to enter to relax,  

Now I leave it to.
My mind is a government
Overthrown.
Chaos reigns; more injustice

Now, in the wake of anarchy,
Than prior to revolution.
My mind is a page of my person
Overturned.

I change. Gardens become
Woods. Cities pastures.
Poets dead people.  
My mind is a garden
Overgrown.

Drunk in the morning watching
The tail feathers of a magpie not
Being twigs within the yellow
Womb of swaying autumn
Bushes.

She's getting tattooed by
My brother. He locked us in to
His studio just to give her
Her Christmas present
In ink.

Now she's tipsy with French
Red bottled painkillers,
And my brother keeps telling her
To sit still every thirty odd
Seconds.

He's about to cut it down to
Every tenth.
Outside, people try the studio
Door, thinking it's open, but
No.

This is the time for the special.
Oslo day turns into night,
Neon dances, beggars get more
Intense, and in the middle of it
All, I glance over my

Carlsberg at her long, long black
Hair dyed red at the tips,
And think something to myself
That rhymes with home, but
Not alone.

There's something about drinking
A little beer on a Monday.
The moon and stars look down at
Us; their slightly lost,
Most beloved children, and

Dream Theater sing Pull
Me Under, as I think that
She might have done so by
Just about *******
Now.

Idle spectator.
Day by day as worthless
As calendar paper.

Handshakes cold through a
Sterile window,
How can you

Expect to feel anything, when
Watching your life through
Glass?

Girl. If you were as close as
You could, those would not be the
Covers of your bed against you.

You'd wonder how many arms
I had; you'd ask how something
Could so hold you.

That is how close I would be.
Between your skins.
Within your withinnermost.

I would find you. I would dig
Until I found you; separate you;
Open your smile to mine.

See you seeing me seeing you as
As naked as anything without
Anything; final, final self.

That pillow; my arm. That pillow;
My other. That cover is not from
Feathers; I envelope you with

My ownership of the bed we lay
Upon, if I must. I claim what I
Crave; your rest. Rest.

She uses the F-word to
Emphasize the L-word

When pausing from her
Whatever to text me,

And I pause from my
Whatever to focus on

Grander aspects of the
Whateveryday. How puzzled it

Makes a young man to cross
Paths with a young woman and

Find vacuum the same shape
As his own calling out for

Substance. I give up some other
Whatever, like someone opening

A door that refuses to
Stay shut; welcoming

The rain inside. Whatever. *It's
All wet now, anyway.

She worries about her weight.
Pokes her fingers at her own
Sides and shakes her head at
Things in shops with her
Name on them, saying no to
One more inch to cover up
Confidence.

And the fact that she was more
Pride and less woman before
Is as uninteresting to me   
As anything other than the
Process of being revealed unto is
To the man on her bed that has
Nothing more to reveal himself,

So stop with the fingers. No more
Covering up behind your arms.
Stop with the excuses and the
Headshakes; yes, I'll go to the
Gym with you.
Tomorrow. Today, I have a menu
Full of enjoyment to offer,

And I will not rest until you
Need to, full and content, loosen
The buckle of your displeasement
And lean back, exhaling softly,
Warm and drying in the soothing
Autumn breeze from the cracked
Window; content. Confident.

Armed police in the streets of
Oslo. A rare sight.

The intercepted plans for
Terrorist attacks any

Of these days, are taken
Seriously.

It was just too good a summer,
Wasn't it?

A dark cloud hangs over
A city that sleeps through

Months and months of
Unsummer and cold.  

We live under it today, looking
Up over sunglasses and

Beerglasses, happy that it's
Just a metaphor yet, and

Still doesn't have the shape
Of a mushroom.

I have never thrown
A stone at two
Birds

I'm not without
Sin, this house
Is all glass

And besides, who
Needs to **** anything
To multitask

Words barely audible;
Choked and phone line
Distorted.

[Words muttered between
Sweat-wet moans and
The grasp

Of a lover
Whispering
Back.

Fingers finding fingers;
Knots of nails and tendons
Tying, untying, re-tying.

Legs, arms, ribs, knees -ropes
And hull of something fleetingly
Unsinkable.]

Words barely audible.
Hoarse with worry.
"Will you be ok?"

IV-bag drip-dripping iron
Supplement into my arm
That itself remembers her

Sleeping head still warm
With contentment's embers.  
"I'll live if you'll live."

A pact between our broken
Hearts; that everything else
Stays unbroken.

I think I want to get old
Alone. Learn how to grow
Strands of white in
Grey.

Deaf to a silence as
Complete as any ever. I'll
Have longs since
Unlearned

To talk. I'd like to go like
That -still in the rocking chair.
Or find myself locked in the dark
Boot of a car, with a shovel and

Every last thank you prayed;  
Hearing, from the sound of
The gravel, that I'll rest in home-
Ground soil. Both feet in leather.

They say all the water on Earth
Has been drunk
At least
Once.

I guess it doesn't present itself
As a groundbreaking secret:
We're all just mainly
***.

Polite
Freeloaders
Load more
Freely.

Loves grow.  
Some like redwood trees,
Some like strands of grass.
Yet, the sun of
Touch and caring
Is welcomed with open leaves;
Petals unfolding in acceptance
And gratitude.

Loves grow.
Raging waterfalls of infatuation
Become deep, quiet ponds; even
Strong rivers of current
Union.
Your hands on my face used to
Give me shivers and goosebumps,
Now they warm me from
Skin to spine.
From bark to the innermost
Heart of the wood.

Loves grow.
Trees share branches over time;
Merge.
Centuries or seconds,
From afar enough
Even years tick tock when passing.
I'll count them with you,
Not caring for numbers as much
As movement.

Loves grow.
Roots and flowers,
Fruits from dirt.
One from more.
Your hands on my face are
Mine on yours, and our growth is
The opposite of the
Packing-up of things
And leaving.

Snow like sparks from a
Raging wildfire.

I watch the eighteen wheeler
Unload its cargo,

Shielding my eyes from the
Cotton blizzard.

Glove carries diesel fumes
And the scent of my last cup of

Coffee. Inside it, my hand
Remembers itself full of her hair

And pulling her closer slightly
Too hard, the way she loves it.

Snow like sparks from a
Raging wildfire.

There are a thousand places
I would like to be, right now.

Her bed is one.
This isn't.

I place all of my
Sympathies
Before
You.

God looks in the
Mirror and
Prays.

She's rock 'n' roll as if it was an
Element.
She walks to the sound of

Cobblestones worshiping her
Heels like the desert its rare
Rains.

Nightclub beats slow
Down to
Match her pulse

As she passes.
Narcissus loving himself
Before her; she mirrors

Men's fragile egos in the
Tears she produces when
Passing them with me

On her mind.
She's rock 'n' roll
As if unsilence itself commanded

A goddess to choose a body
To possess; her
Back straight

Like time was of no such thing
As the essence.
She slows down to match

My humble
Mortal
Pace.

I die.
Then
Not.

In the dust on the back
Of a passing car, the
Thin tip of a
Daughter's finger

Has drawn a
Heart. And
Meant
It.

Planet of Sphere. Ocean of Water.
Word of Mouth. Light of Day.
World of Why's.

Every other breath a question.
Every other gesture a fist
Shaken towards the skies, or palms
Tracing a hole of absence
Shaped as a closest one.

There are no parents
Treading this Globe of Ground.
All of us infant siblings, comparing
Perceptions in a vacuum of
Answers.

Sons and daughters all become
Not.
Fathers and mothers fall victim
To blood drawn from own blood
And remain as drained
Heart shaped shadows, if in any
Shape at all.

The only cure against loss
Is not being there to lose, or never
Having had any ones to.

World of Why's.
Men of War; each a Child of Mother,
Whether as living as childplay  
Or fallen as something that
Has.

I am strong enough to hold you
So hard you won't feel yourself.
Inside you, where you carry
All you love, though, is a universe
Away from my
Reach.

That is why they are safe.
Safe as statues, painfree as
Mountains.
And why
You never
Will be.