(the dangerous path)
My body won’t keep quiet.
It snitches
It bumps me in corridors of years,
stumbles through classrooms,
draft notices torn like bad letters,
ears filled with a bright metallic hiss
as if something diseased
were shaking its coins inside my skull
Thoughts grind.
Nothing comes out clean.
Blood throws itself downward –
a plunge,
not a flow
And then the wilderness screams.
Not around me
but from me,
rising out of night’s jailbreak,
out of seventy-seven dreams
that never agreed to behave.
Yes.
This body
It flushes.
Shrugs like it doesn’t know me.
Slams doors just to hear the sound.
Runs stairs for the echo,
for proof
Down, down,
into a forest that should have been green
but isn’t –
a grave-forest
where the grey-headed woodpecker
keeps calling
as if someone
were still alive enough to answer
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-02-02 at 09:34
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Body (III)
My body won’t keep quiet.
It snitches
It bumps me in corridors of years,
stumbles through classrooms,
draft notices torn like bad letters,
ears filled with a bright metallic hiss
as if something diseased
were shaking its coins inside my skull
Thoughts grind.
Nothing comes out clean.
Blood throws itself downward –
a plunge,
not a flow
And then the wilderness screams.
Not around me
but from me,
rising out of night’s jailbreak,
out of seventy-seven dreams
that never agreed to behave.
Yes.
This body
It flushes.
Shrugs like it doesn’t know me.
Slams doors just to hear the sound.
Runs stairs for the echo,
for proof
Down, down,
into a forest that should have been green
but isn’t –
a grave-forest
where the grey-headed woodpecker
keeps calling
as if someone
were still alive enough to answer
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-02-02 at 09:34
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![]() by Ingvar Loco Nordin Latest textsBody (IV)Body (III) Body (II) Body Penultimate January (II) |
