Body
My body does not slip past me
unnoticed;
it constantly gives itself away,
bumps into me,
staggers through primary school & refusal of military service
with the sizzling leper’s rattle of tinnitus
and thoughts grinding like parched millwheels
in the roaring plunge of blood
– but worst is the cry from the wilderness
rising out of the flight of night
out of seventy-seven years of stubborn dreams
Yes, my body wears
on my patience,
flushes the toilet,
shrugs its shoulders,
slams doors,
runs down echoing stairwells
down
into the deep grave-forest’s desolate call
of the grey-headed woodpecker
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-02-02 at 08:52
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