I will be then and not here

but you are there too

and I ask:


What does it matter who is here

and who isn’t when you know it

to be true

that you do not know if it

is timbred with the lifetime of the shells that

hold your ears firmly to

the ground-watered light of

the yellow-sombred tombs of the



I will see it to you and say it to their

respected and knowing lovers,

to be you is to be then and there and

not the real-time usage of the words

I love you.


Once it came to being that all the real ones

were able to make then, but not

hay, for it is not the fields

of grain that makes us real,  but the fields

of war, for they do not know when to stop

this fyordic dive into life without

times-a-flowing to the renderer of the feat

known as death and times of plenty




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