Wednesday, 11 August 2010

A poem from Lars Gustafsson's latest collection 'On the Use of Fire'



Roach

This was the strange word
that I looked for in my dream
And was quite unable to find.

I woke up
having dreamt of a fish
with red eyes

easy to catch with chewed bread
on a bent pin

So much more sluggish than fair bleak
those warm shorewater’s

indefatigable dancers

                  *

Yes, this dream was full
of beauty and dancing
And no one in the whole world knew
That the roach is called roach.

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