||Oak is it!
We always seem to want monochromes, but even a mistake consists of chromosomes, with the eye at the water’s edge, bisected.
A haiku poem meek as a freak.
Eternity bloody itch
Devour your friends now
Historical revenge is always modern.
In seven years time all flesh and skin, every bone and every hair is replaced with the knowledge of a big pile of fluff lying in the corner of eternity. We will try to vacuum every week, but when the mind is at work, the body keeps shedding.
If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody hears it, we will, if cornered by zen, be able to reconstruct this incident rather precisely:
A tree fell in the woods, and nobody heard it.
The poetry in silence, in the eighties, in the cock and café.
The poetry in reality, in art, poetry where everything unifies and diffuses.
The poetry in poetry.
The poetry in the problematics concerning four copulating pricks at a café.
Copenhagen, January 2009
Rasmus Høj Mygind, Rolf Munck Petersen, Uffe Holm, Mikkel Carl