Sarcophagi I–III
I
I wake on a burning horizon,
fly up in flakes,
drift down out of my memory
for details;
mineralize
without the slightest possibility of pain,
in a steaming slow-cook
of the earth’s crust
II
The face pushes its way forward
out of the gravity of the moment;
misthrives silently
in car paint & shop windows;
lifts itself out of the situation
in one sudden round cut
& throws itself into the manure pit
III
The message is oceanic
like a holiness in mercury,
smooth as guilt’s justification;
concave in the sea’s gravitational gaze
without land in something vanished:
the body silent-film-jerky
at the end of a noose of snow
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Read 15 times
Written on 2026-09-02 at 11:01
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
