(fragments)


The Moment D (III)


DIG WHERE YOU STAND
they said

I STAND
to the chin
in old age

The spade trembles.
Pain
here
there

The pill organizer
a small calendar
of survival

Sunday:
refill the week

The circadian wheel
tightening

Days
where years once were

Comrades
already gone

A well-earned death
they call it

Among the few remaining:

fatigue.
a restless heart

Old CT –
the spindle-shaped
IRON-CURTAINIST –

still himself.
Only now
aching
in his Soviet body

UP

Once
the measure
of beauty

In Shitville
among the grey
in the influenza queue

her face tightened
into a death mask

The eyes
already elsewhere

SK
elder of the Alienated

Facebook survivor

Reduced
to the concentrate
of intellect

Denser.
Thicker.
Viscous.

Still himself

A nihilist
to the tip
of his bohemian nose

Philosophy
in YouTube links

Comfort
without relief

Hades
smelling of oil

On P1:

AI will determine
the moment of death
with greater precision

My mouth dries

The mouse arm protests

And the metabolites
begin
their report





Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Written on 2026-03-04 at 13:15

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