by David Uppgren

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This is a train station. This
Is a train station in the nineties
And the ro
This is a country road. This is
A country ro

I have seen the coarsest of
Lights, exorbitant for us in skin,
Spread across space, in the wo
This beautiful we

This dre
And this dre
How one sobs and falls asleep,
Entangled in wet spiderwe

The labour pains
How did we feel them? How did we feel the world before?
In its obscene light and the lie about following it (it was only the pussy)
I have been thinking about getting on
This train to tra
Past ar
Where delinquents grow

Whose mo
Will not feed them, like
Small bir

Soon these fields become an ar
For apartments and sto
Dairy shops and lin
Dreams about wa

We drive past dialectically and into
The snowsto
Grounds that have been filled and filled
And have bur

The fires that bodies carr
In summers in warm ree
And space, the whole time abo

This is a baptism, just don't ask me how.
This taming of animals.
And headturning tourists
Under the carved marble blo
And trees, that at first looked like
Trees, were big flocks of bir
And the fountains flo

In this damn ligh
In this damn now
Ferns along
gravel roads in the sou

How gold in filaments and brushwood
Cremate this newbo
Who does not learn to breathe until it is
too late.

Me and my bird language, god fo
Right below this damn spa
Hating bodies pu
With weapons closest to the bo

Colorized bodies, skeletons and ey
The pressing midni
Shadows of cit
Shadows of wo
Shadows of se

My damn spiritual lang
My wasted li
My beloved mo
My dear com

The dream that dreams itse
And breathes into me, the warmth that spre
And the body that swe
Here in the ligh
One is so old! So hi

Like the bees, melted the innermost war
And looks that he
Like druggy wax, that small bir
Collect to their small bir