The Helicopter Plot
I hover over my cup of coffee
like the police helicopter
over Gunnar Norgren & Clark Olofsson
in the Hölö area in July 1966;
my thoughts rotating like rotor blades,
my hearing clattering like concrete music
by Pierre Henry or Bernard Parmegiani
I keep constant watch over myself
like the hawk over the flock of quail,
like the walls of Kumla
over the Helicopter Gang,
like Caryl Chessman
over his final moment
My jaws grind
like pure process engineering
while my swallowing reflexes double the stakes
like the gambler out at Jägersro,
like the madman his madchanics,
like metabolism its metabolics
The curses cleave language’s possessed calm
like naval forces the waters
off the Muskö base,
like the brain surgeon the skull base,
like the first-timer the hymen –
until the coffee in the cup has gone cold
beneath my overhang
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-08-26 at 18:22
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