Poems of April

I have to seize the hunger make the most out it Sometimes I neglect the hunger and waste it on potatoes Then I feel remorse Oh no, it's too late! But the hunger always returns and I can spend it on chocolate

What I remember from my childhood bedroom The window Sunlight dazzled my eyes through dusty blinds I knew that the world was out there

"salary" is an annoying word like a peacock feather it steels my attention and when I finally touch it it's all thin and rickety I give salary one of ten "lettuce" is a modest word seemingly ordinary and pale but when I restart my eyes I see layers and ruffles a giant green rose bud I give lettuce three of ten "poet" is a tricky word because it's me and it's also you your breathing in your sleep my snoring next to you I give poet twelve of ten

the sky is pale only the flower pot has innocence a blue being at the forest's entrance the ghost of the tea escapes my darkness a rabbit dreams he is a hare I just wanted to be somewhere else a child's dropped crayon cries blue weapons are sold with crushing arguments cheerful graffiti - ice cream and glitter my lover is worn out and naked people kill just for the sake of killing same sweat pants, tea stains and earth stains a glimpse of a railroad beyond the lake some dead author drifts by the cardboard box has room for corpses people are dying thanks for a great website a hare dreams he is a rabbit Pippi Longstocking please be real I will fight the fan until it subsides the death, always the death a glimpse of a lake beyond the railroad

I found myself in the forest, surrounded by leaves, above, under and perhaps inside. The blueberries were still prototypes. The leaves on the ground rustled like ancient papyrus, withering words never to be read. The leaves in the tree glistening green tiny and glowing like LED. The leaves on the ground greenless, bloodless like dead. Still stroked by the sun, caressed please notice that while able to notice. Would I ever taste the blue? Leaves in the tree glowing, greening, leafing. Leaves on the ground leaving. In vain I asked myself not to ask myself: What kind of leaf was I?

The soul is tender squashy and cuddly mild and sweet The soul is unique an indescribable shape straggling and soft The soul is powerful radiates sharp seeds a thousand individuals to be The soul is protected by tangy flesh the iris of a watchful eye The soul is durable the outermost skin is earthy and rough I am not afraid to embrace the entire soul the sweet and the rough I am not afraid so I eat my kiwifruit whole without peeling

ر riding down a slide ب balancing a bath tub on a bouncing ball رب lord brings the bath tub to the slide ي yes there comes a duck on roller blades ربي my lord, the duck attacks the bath tub ع a snow man is melting in the sun ربيع and the snow man bites the duck tail, his head is shrinking in the spring heat ر ب ي ع all these items that was apart ربيع unite to form the spring

"Your blood is light" says those who are splashed by my laughter. Colored lanterns shines brightest in the dark. My blood is thick like tar.

Nob bid Lay adding My mill come yeah share Bach usher Oh until all lit ash rubbing and bitter And how are lush in a kit?

The party day was there but my neck was all bare. I had nothing to wear. I was deep in despair and turned to my hare. That bunny was not feckless. He ate one of my long hair and made me a brown pearl necklace.

Buy flowers? Never! Lavish lilies can never measure up to Withering violas blunt blueberry bushes and bewildered yellow star-of-Bethlehem Grandiose greenhouse reeking roses can never remind me of My evening walk in the sunset the sky glowing pink Walking near the river chasing wild flowers suddenly finding myself face to face with a duck Looking up and seeing my apartment house in pink light pointing to it like ET with long trembling fingers whispering: Home!

There are two kinds of people: Those who are dead and those who will die. I stare through the window - a gray dripping heaviness. I stare at the screen- a blue screaming emptiness. My head shelters boredom, stress and fear of death. They vie for my attention. I fetch a candy bar. Dark chocolate with nuts. Cocoa trees. Watered by the sky. Illuminated by the sun. The greatest thing the ground ever grew. The sweet, deep fragrance fills me. I look out the window - the soft clouds gleam with heavenly pastels. I glance at the screen - where my next poem will be. The joy whirls under my skin. It is almost to good to be true the fact that I am alive.

What's that sound? Rodents creeping in the night? No, it's me stroking my calculator. Oh those buttons! A thrill for my fingertips. Fat, bulging and far apart. I don't need to worry about pressing the wrong button. The touch sound is genuine - soft and rustling. I can even twist the buttons. Then the five's belly looks puffy the eight seems relaxed and the three makes a dance move. I admit, I am envious of my friend. Oh being able to choose what to save in memory. Oh to be able to remove anything from memory. And to remember exactly as it was. Life as a human would be so much easier if I had M+, M- and MC.

His mind is huge like a castle infinite rooms of marble and towers above the clouds His mind is ample like a palace with gold paved halls so wide you will get lost in them His mind is vast like a city with shiny skyscrapers swaying in the sky All this space that is his mind All this volume echoing .. ing .. ng empty

it seizes me encloses me circulates inside me my stomach is a universe I am rocked by something divine with hints of conventional synth music this is how it feels to live I walk on a cloud of words the beat of the snare drum propagates in my nerves I am home and ecstatic lost

my screams echo on the screen fumbling for a function to execute my shuffled dream I die but not for real let's start again let's iterate let's empty the array the words are mine the code defined it's random what I scream

I do nothing wrong. My conscience is clean. If it is allowed, it is not called theft. My wallet is fat. The sky is dense of smoke from an industrial chimney.

I write what's in front of my eyes I write what I hear I write that somebody cries I write what's in front of my eyes I write that somebody dies I write about my fear I write what's in front of my eyes I write what I hear

clouds gray thoughts of vital drips clouds shapes that never existed before clouds the shapes will soon disintegrate clouds drips constantly create new shapes

Take-off Emphasis Remain Trembling You whisper hovers like ghost

Spring came The bear awakened The wind through the fur was suddenly wanted The zoo became filled with upright animals Spring sparkled The mobile phones flashed Spring burst green The bear swallowed the cage Spring applauded The bear rushed The green essence tickled the nose This is the beginning - now you are a bear! Spring laughed The music was inaudible and ubiquitous

After the fireworks: Metal rain. I wish the city center was a beach, that the new years night was warmer and the champagne colder. The fireworks has faded. Intoxication has turned into hangover. The sky seems empty. I long for a place where I don't feel any longing. The rain comes. The stubbed out visions swell in the puddles. The crushed dreams flashes. The rain pours. Screams: Be glad I'm only water. On the planet you long for the rain is made of metal condensed iron pours without fireworks preceding it. On the planet you long for there is not sunrise and no sunset. The rain ceases. I long for here. A shard of a dream crunches under my heels. Becomes multiplied.

Pale penises. Hairy strawberries. True art is ugly, like life always is. True art is genuine, like life sometimes is. My senses want more. I am alive with half a thought in the grave. The days are too short and to slow and too intense. There are moments when I stretch and put my dissatisfaction to rest. I can feel my body. I frown at sunsets. I slap my face for not celebrating that I am alive.

Love is like spring cleaning. Everything is the same but different. The surfaces lay bare. There is a shimmer above everything. It smells like a walk in the forest, like standing by the sea. My nose is addicted to that smell. Love is like dirtying. Everything is the same but different. Like yesterday but more smeared. Like the day before yesterday but more greasy. Should I buy a hinge tweaker? The sunset smells like touch. I reach out my arms. Sunsets pass by. It is neither clean nor dirty. The poem can't end like this! It did not turn out like I imagined. I should have bought that hinge tweaker.

My boss asked me to look after his children. - No problem. - I can do it. - Trust me! He came with a bunch of kids. They ran around in my apartment. I sat by the desk. A girl came with a package of dry cat food that she has found in the kitchen. - Don't eat that. I will cook a nutritious meal for you in a couple of hours, I said. The evening came. I sat by the desk. The children were hungry. - You can eat the cat food, I said. I realized that I should have counted the children when my boss handed them over. I hoped that they were eight, because that is how many they are now.

All the good ones was taken - there were only two. Among the ones that was left, the most decent was you.

My house. It's so high that the wind makes the marigolds on my balcony bow. My house. It is so high that the wind enters the cracks around the windows and reminds me of the heat of your skin. My house. It's so high that the bricks fumbles for the sky. My house. The bricks glow in the rain and the roughness on their surface appears as pictograms. My house. Hieroglyphs in the rain. Crooked smiles. Closed eyelids. Laughing cellulites.

I write code. I like many languages. JavaScript - my first infatuation. PHP - my first love. Java - my dear friend. Out of all programming languages I have tried, there is none that I dislike. Not the same goes for human languages. Arabic is the only human language that gives me almost the same satisfaction as programming languages. The other human languages do not please me. Not my native language Swedish. Not English nor Spanish. I do not find pleasure in coding and decoding them.