Endless poem

I don’t identify!
At 52,
it’s time to do,
with something:

More than half a century
of life, have left me, with all
and nothing
just knowing the shallow part of it
makes it the biggest part of it.

Life, as is known, have a tendency
to twist everything up inside
and outside,
a twist, notwithstanding, is life in a nutshell
it is debauchery in virginity, goddess in a demon
sin in a deed, deed in a sin, just, a tendency
It must be longer,
more lines;
just harder
to fill
those lines,
so much easier,
when it’s shorter.

And is life not but an upset, a disturbance in the tranquility that non-existence is
the common feeling of stress and upset, is the disturbance, the awakening from blissful silence
to this noise, this drama, this spectacle, this revolting revolution of only superficial change

I sometimes long for that silence, hell, I always long for it, still, I don’t much mind… being.
I held this truth for so long,
out of eye, out of mind, out

I never didn’t know it
I did try not to let it be
but it is: no truth to be had.

My love, it is I, your love
I’ve come to forget you
though I didn’t mean to
it seems that, like, you do to:
the facts

What facts, you ask
Well, the facts, I retort
Those are not facts, you say
But I tell you, they are, facts.

As factual as can be, facts
Like, I left you, but you were never here
Like, I wronged you, but you were not always right
Like, as something happened, nothing happened
Like, as sleep eats out hours, and nothing is lived
But everything is lived and learned.

You’re right, though, there are no facts
there should be, though, facts!

There are none and it gives me nothing to hold onto.
I slip, I fall, my hands glide on greasy surfaces.
I slip, I fall.

I was never with you, I was never with anyone
I was always only by my lonely

Still looking for someone, to be someone with
But I can’t find you

Still, sometimes, by the corner of my eye, I see
a possibility, of something, someone.

Just a glimpse, in the lower right corner of my sight;
there is you.

Could you be, like, are you, living, existing
I miss you. I long for you. I don’t see you
in my life, at all.

But I think I should. I think that I deserve you.
So where are you? Cause you’re not here.

Are you out there, looking for someone like me?
Is there anyone, out there, looking for someone,
in here. Nowhere, everywhere, allwhere.

Or is it only me
by me
for me
for ever.
It can’t be.

It is life, you told me, before your life ended
It is life, you said
but you were talking about dying.
It is life, you said, and I knew you were loosing
It is life, and life is as it is. I told her:

Life is death.

I told her, she would die. She knew I was right.
We had this last summer, the last summer she ever had
But we had this summer. She spoke to me, really, or maybe
I just heard her, for the first time.
What she said, can not be recounted. Because, to recount that,
would be the undoing of her.
She told me she would die.

She did, die. She left life behind. She left me behind.
And I never thought she would.
But she did; and I, find my self again,

Det er på dansk, kan du ikke dansk, kan du ikke
Vi er, tilstede, os alle sammen, på dansk
for vi forstår hinanden. Vi er for fanden, danske.

But we are not, never ever are we
the “we” in “us” is not there.
There is no we in us.
as you know!