(inspired By Gunnar Ekeløf).
told to a stranger
not words
but a look
or a rare movement
the second the fire
caught the dry tobacco
(in the now newly lit and then long longed cigarette)
who you are
I can not tell
but you are not yours
(that much is certain)
maybe a magical mix between chemistry and the seconds you are loved and the seconds you
are left
(written in fluids, scars and smiles)
sentences’ or fragments of sentences’
brought into meaning
(however meaningless)
by you
(who are not even yours)
not even the cigarette is yours
but belongs to nameless urge’s and untold orders
(given to your body
by the invisible director
of your moneys dance
from your pocket
into his)
Lars Eriksen 2005
Copyright © Lars Eriksen | Year Posted 2006
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