Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Another poem by Katrine Marie Guldager

It is nerve-racking to write poems
for you never know where they will end.
If you will wake up in a strange town
with a glowing cigarette in the corner of your mouth
if you will lose all of those
you have already lost once
one more time:
If the poem will demand that.
Or just spit your bones out on a bare field
in Kolding.

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