Story written last year in Raahe, 3″ Kuppila while waiting for the gig to start.
Here I am today, destroyed MAGNET!
splitter of the tail, a saint
As a friend of theme-boys and blood of your blood as one, sharp insane woman, frozen and so sorry.
Kind of a lighthouse beacon left on counter of a bar, the last link of loneliness between everything
- and nothing.
Missing afterparty of Sabbath, as kind senior citizen as possible, as young retired urn carrier, the force that left so much behind and is running low
- on and on, on at evenings, nesting into empty windows and spreading in the wind when the nightly sirens are braying.
Dispersing from own presence, sharing stinking opinions that are read as free and as one at mornings – moist by the fumes of paper mill.
Truth lies in the shadows
On the Palm of God?
“Not buying anything, thank you.”
Among the smallest print the map of space is hovering.
The eye is open.