Laus Strandby Nielsen

Poetry

When you have understood the map,...

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Poetry

You throw a stick in the water, b...

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Poetry

While the grass grows, loneliness...

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Poetry

The title geysir

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They never put the light out in the corridor

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Because life goes on with trolleys and racks

in the light and the dark, in spasms that clutch something

almost nothing of what remains, it spreads

out like that snoring in the universe you call

your neighbour. You must go closer. Through the fair

fluttering worlds that are what you can see

in the birdsong’s grey-flickering cuts in the grief.

The wet and the dry monsters wag their tails.

If they’ve been allowed to keep them. There’s

a big circle when the animals say goodbye.

While the pretty, capable ambassadors of the future

submit their credentials to my white

blood cells. There’s a burning in one foot.

There’s an emergency vehicle on its way in the oesophagus

in a southbound direction, I repeat: Dr. Carrot

and Dr. Stick are in a meeting, this is the last call

for passengers to The Old World. All

others are asked to stand up and say thank you for the ride.

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