As the snow falls from the roof of my cranium-dome
I wonder, wander through moon-like tunnels
Finding alien faces in this cave of mirrors
In pursuit of rats tail just around the corner
I stumble upon a piece of myself; a navel string
As I, once again, get lost in the snow-maze
Sheathed in a skintight ring of a hundred black pillars,
And with all the might of my freedomlust, I throw
My white, willing axe through weightless air.
I realise I was deceived by the perspective, as
I behold the pillars in the horizon all around me, each
as wide and tall as the night.
Too vast for any axeblade and its shining will.
But amidst my hundredyear wandering through the walled
ruins of my abandoned hope,
I find the truth.
And I am free,
For now I see,
That mine are the pillars and not the axe.
The following two poems are translation
from the author’s original Danish.
I am a submerged body.
Insatiably the ocean dissolves me flake after flake, until
I float to the surface.
The volume of the displaced fluid is just about
(the water evaporates)
She stumbles through the fog-realm and stumbles upon
A mother leading a daughter to the lamp’s panting twinkle,
And by the heat of a dying glare, they merge in trinity
one last time.
(the light goes out)
All is black.
An eggshell swirling in space.
a cut opens across spacetime.
a trembling finger cuts itself on its edge.
and as I drip from the finger cut,
I am sucked through to the other side.