the rain finished;
falling from below
the sound of nail clippers
afternoon coffee —
for you, honoured fruit fly,
the grounds in the sink
the day’s work done
white gold gleaming
in the branches of August
Almost a full year on Micro.blog for me, so decided to do some housekeeping on the ol' blog: updated the about page and changed to an adequately blurry profile pic. Here’s to another year!
afternoon, vanishing
into the air conditioning
of a homebound bus
the old barn wall
brought down by this heat
fresh red apples
From some walk a month or two ago: signs are always interesting, as if they had some deeper meaning…
at the field’s edge
haybales set up
with a flat back four
the lights of Helsinki –
a fox runs before us
into dark waters
Pixies, 14th of August:
a ghost humming
in the bathroom pipes –
“Here Comes Your Man”
all coffee gone
a flash of lightning
dusts the floor
over morning coffee
church bells mourn
fountain pens lost
lightning overhead
a bee seeks shelter
under my hair
high morning sun –
a passing cloud
lends me its hat
staring at my pen
cigarette smoke
from the balcony below
Friday afternoon –
he arranges leaves
to pay for the night’s lager
Camped near this small forest pond. Yes, there’s a pond there somewhere. The night spent in conversation, wet wood smoking in the fire. In the morning, the smell was everywhere, so strong that I thought of taking a dip to wash it away. But of course didn’t. Some waters are better left unstirred.
Camped near this small forest pond. The night spent in conversation, wet wood smoking in the fire. In the morning, their smell was everywhere, so strong that I thought of taking a dip to wash it away. But of course didn’t. Some waters are better left unstirred.
A few weeks back, another weekend at another friend’s cabin. Late in the night, on my way to fetch another sparkling water from the fridge, ran into this lonely weirdo.
bedroom fan humming
E on the balcony;
A History of Private Life
dusk –
on the kitchen floor
a fingernail grinning
in stagnant heat
pre-season football
forever buffering
Luck; to live on a day like today.
Last weekend, in Sammatti:
at the smoking fire
the wine in my tin cup
warms up, oxbloods
Friday evening –
the sound of my ankle
letting go concrete