Friday, 11 March 2016

And yet one more, by Thomas Tidholm


Creation, when God made
the world, or what was left of it
when he had made it,
is such a strange agglomeration
of the old and constantly new
that incessantly becomes, I think about it
when I drive to the next
village to buy ciagarettes
for here the kiosk is already closed
at eight o’clock. I think about it
when I’m standing outside
the kiosk (and it too is closed)
and lots of birds have landed there
and are pecking around
among the bits of paper

The morning of creation
I think about it
can’t have been much different, it was
precisely like this he saw it

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