Conversation June 21, 2014 11:00:19 AM – 11:02:04 AM

Later in the darkness, I found diamonds in your eyes. I no longer have room for the fine hairs on my skin. I had fallen out of a spotted sleep and into a deep melancholy and now I drove on through the sorrow of the landscape. The books sketched their own direction. Our land. And we thought of the smallest details, the atoms, molecules, substances reacting with substances. The doubt, to stand at the edge of the mountains, to signify silence. I wrote letters to you in my thoughts and followed the movements of the road along the coast and the sea, hesitatingly.

Landscape June 20, 2014 4:25:18 PM – 4:27:13 PM

It’s just that… The spaces of words are undoubtedly what is most important.

Nothing is deeper than the skin? I love to wake up and see you wake up. It was before the diamonds, even before the movement of my fingers through shadows, through hair, through town plan after town plan. I try to draw luminous eyes in my sentences. I wrote letters to you in my thoughts and followed the movements of the road along the coast and the sea, hesitatingly.

Conversation June 20, 2014 3:41:07 PM – 3:46:23 PM

I lay there listening to your heart. What should be forgotten? The last time I was happy was only this morning. Someone unfolds my thoughts and turns them into a bright future. It is always this slow gaze. Blue. Can I write that? I wrote myself into a frenzy back then. Was the wind really blowing? Who was it that wrote: The coffee I am drinking is mild in its taste. I have written you a map. Sentences whispered through the laundry and dropped a few caresses on my skin.

Ocean June 20, 2014 3:29:34 PM – 3:31:07 PM

Under the sun, your eyes like Blitzkrieg.

The coffee I am drinking tastes like the innermost of my socks. It was not the fields I came from. The fire. To gather oneself in language, the lawn’s way of being grass.

They turn away from the outer mountains and return to the luminous houses, the noise and their own weird bodies. For every layer of meaning in the stones.

Conversation June 20, 2014 3:28:09 PM – 3:29:31 PM

I drank short gulps of the tea, ate dry crispbread, butter and sesame seeds. Assertion. In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me. Darkness we just called darkness.

Everything is behind everything. From the coolest gadgets we find a way to kill boredom. Write me into your lips. A bare piece to chew on, that is what poetry is like down to the smallest details. …brb… I could not forget what should be forgotten.

Conversation June 20, 2014 3:19:58 PM – 3:22:08 PM

Are you on the other side of the sea? Sun storm. I would like to give you all my diamonds. Sentences whispered through the laundry and dropped a few caresses on my skin. When I read a boring poem, I read a boring poem and it struck me: The summer was quite all right after all, autumn and winter. The light followed me sharply, and I drew on the language dancing in the inner landscapes. Like sitting on a tongue, just looking out there.

Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

Ocean June 20, 2014 1:09:14 PM – 1:12:16 PM

A shy room, an intimate room. When I wrote your name in the shadows, a ray of sun fell through my window. The sand fretted my thoughts, made them round and soft until they disappeared. Suddenly one night, giraffes fell from your dreams. You answered like that. Everything is behind everything. Darkness we just called darkness. The rain, the wind between the leaves of trees, your lips, your lips, your lips. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane. On a window pane.

On a window pane.

On a window pane. On a window pane.

Ocean June 20, 2014 12:02:11 PM – 12:03:58 PM

Sentences are an ocean. A shy room, an intimate room. Call me without reason. The northern lights hesitating in our voices.

Not the rivers in the ears. What should be forgotten? The eyes barely touching the pages.

It was the forests. The jars stood in a shining line between a flight of steps and the house shadows under the roofs. We thought of old fossils, raw thoughts of silence.

Landscape June 20, 2014 11:32:43 AM – 11:35:49 AM

In every day, remnants of meaning slid along with me.

The air and the songs of the Earth.

Can I write like that? You say something about the sun. The fire. You put it in my window, on my window sill. Sometimes a couple in love will come across each other and shrug their shoulders at the mind of the sun. The ladder up to the sentence: I was the one who called the police.

Conversation June 20, 2014 10:50:28 AM – 10:53:12 AM

Then the day slowly closed in on our eyes.

We thought of giraffes, cheetahs and long since extinct species living in the oceans. By the outermost shores we found a small, green stone. You, you. I am on the other side of the sea. By the hesitant shore we walked through mountains of razor shells and looked out towards the slowness of the sea. Not forget the rivers in the ears. The most important. When I do not see you, I do not see you.