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.