poems

1.

A new evening
Flowers chanting,
corrupt tik-tak meadows on the violin,
chimneys puffing away the fall
Corridors of choices –

where we don’t exist,
where purity persists,
what to do with this?

Confused sarcasm,
spasms of free-flowing
making Ginsberg’s flute ordinary
Slipping one word into the next

Berries on the hike,
Soul on a treadmill

Everest –
I need a moment

Baba, baba, baba
Legs of the underworld,
the root of cherished loneliness
Let us drink from the cello’s hollow –

Grinding,
dying on a wish,
plum cheeks,
a muffled clash

Braided ash
Ginsberg remembers me
He howls and howls,
drilling my ears with gasoline –

and kindness

Unearthly routine
A bed beneath the sea
A sea beneath the rig
The wet wound
Caress the cum glazed rectum
Thousand meters of pipe
Majestic void –

The perfect fifth

I command:

Feast on the hole
Pump it deeper
Blow Pet into the global mold
Sell them dirt cheap –

globes to live on,
globes to eat out of,
globes to fuck,
globes to fall in love with,
globes to brag about,
globes to die for

2.

Soldiers coming down the street
with hungry cocks
and lobotomized minds,
singing the soldier’s song

Cool, says Elon
Salivating,
for legions of cocks at his call

Tesla’d cocks,
iron scrotums,
T-pierced lust

More of that please,
like Ginsberg sang a million years ago –

Transfigured my thoughts into glass

Shatter me Elon
With all you have
Give me what it takes
Trump my soft rear

Do it more
Do it ever
Do it infinitely
Do it indefinitely
Until there is no more –

Do me a tesla cyberfuck

Nov ‘24

Socrat in his salad days –
bearded gazelle on a magazine table,
curls spun from borrowed wisdom:
plaster-white,
Bust!

How many hours,
on how many days,
beside how many dreamin’ girls
above Pizzeria Venedik,
with Timuçin teeth –
I watched your head
O’ Ali,
curly teke,
O’ Ali,
shimmering eyes,
O’ Ali,
carved cheekbones,
Ya’ Ali,
swear lip-stuck

*

Praise the lord +

you, worn out bourgeois,
you, lunch-break magician,
you, peasant mouth,
you, mechanical turk,
you, chaos goblin,
you, scalpel shepherd,
you, remaker of time

thy flesh,
thy blood

Spit on my father’s name

Represent me
Let your concave mirror bend me whole

sun-ra maya
sweet torpedo kiss
forming me sound—
forming me dance
as word was not yet—

sun out and I am about
a shadow of a moth
to wonder about

next door, a violent machine cutting tombstones out of marble
next door, rock ‘n’ roll of hipster god
next door, renovating to sell for a better prize

sun out and I am about
to give my soul a bath

My foreign tongue,
a parasite,
nesting in the warm womb of your native air
I unfold the clean fabric of your ancestors
to riddle my secret:

Memleketim, Mu, isamaa
where beauty is kept in a fortress,
its gates guarded by privilege,
its bloom nurtured in the soft soil
of wealth’s embrace.

I rejected their offering,
spat on the gilded power of my birthright.
Instead, I trespassed,
tore down the borders they built,
and sought beauty my way—
not with wealth,
but with rebellion,
defying the construct
that claimed beauty as its own.

The sharp inheritance of my kind
sinks its teeth here—
a love bite or a wound—
how can I know?

You call it love,
this beautiful contagion,
where skin meets skin to ignite the unseen.
But my blood spills into your centuries,
threading foreign roots beneath your snowy forest,

Am I not a trespasser?
A thief of genomes and time.
You take me in willingly,
but do you know what I carry?

You—Laura,
sacred host,
tender mother of this mutation—
what will you say
when your calf speaks my borrowed tongue,
when it laughs like an intruder,
and walks like a shadow?

Tell me, when tomorrow blooms,
will you call it love?
or conquest?
or will it remain unnamed,
a story neither yours nor mine,
born in the fragile fracture
where two worlds collide?

Back to basics
Pinot noir before midnight
Thousand mirrors of me
Nowhere to be found and senseless
Vi kjører

Wife takes charge noah
Riding the E39 north
I am home, rotting my roots
With air fryer fam visit decayed pores
Dried up on a windy oil city day

Didact me-self further no less than
Found xanax under mama’s pillow
Search commit design poet sharp
My poems less and less mean
Bare bare

Wfh on day one
Shah went upside down
Classics on shelf long
Celebrating life cerebrating death
Daydream pocket empty

15 May ’25

mystic sage, driftwood
pink at times
with legs and arms
let me bend with you