The Sleep-Legionary's New Year Nocturnal
The cats
in silent movements
through the motionless house,
cold-tempered in a downgraded outer world,
the world-image vaulted in the night-space of the Eastern Bedroom;
a snug body in the sleeping bag’s misplaced mountain-sleep rustle
within the indoors’ ongoing Per-Albin-ing at New Year 2025–26;
the notepad from Storheden’s Biltema noting
the body’s breathing & blood pressure as proceeding
according to plan,
when the Silver Cat steps across the threshold
in his EPA-jerrycan apparition,
leaps up onto the New-Year-night bed
and finds his sleep-ally between my lower legs;
a sleep-legionary with large eyes, five kilos
& monumental trust
beneath the Moon & Venus
in the long breath of eternity
about existence’s joint-fractured figures
through the chores;
the unnecessarily lavish, the wars dressed up, the vain
within their horizons;
the culverts cozily furnished for the fearful,
Brian Eno’s Bath become the capital
of the crow-barred & sledge-hammered,
the bolsters in flockwise drone-escapes,
bulky across the sky, shading the shy;
moonlight shadows long in vague consciousnesses,
the stain-ballads intermittently resounding
while the itches creep across deep scalps,
chanting their seborrheic convictions,
fungally intoxicated, dandruff-brand alarming
in the after-tracts
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-01-02 at 10:51
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