Wednesday, 11 August 2010

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


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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