the end of the world

if I tilt my head

a little bit to the left

and slightly backwards

there is nothing left

to obscure the sky

for a moment

I can pretend

that only I’ve survived

the end of the world

if I cover with my fingers

my right eye

and I’ll squint the left one

the picture of you becomes blurry

and you become only

a slightly darker outline

against the sun

my body relaxes

and I think without emotion

that only I have survived

bombing

I hide in the bathroom

it’s quiet and cold

and I look good

surrounded by the white tiles

with the tips of my fingers

I draw equations on the walls

and get into unnecessary arguments

with Gödel Heisenberg and Cantor

I hide in the bathroom

it’s quiet and cold

just like in the cellar

where you hide

from the bombing raid

mirror

I rest forehead on the mirror

and look inside my own eye

somewhere on the bottom of the pupil

there might be an answer

there might be a new galaxy

but that’s the whole different story

different poem

I rest forehead on the mirror

and imprint on it

fingerprints

of my own thoughts

they duplicate themselves

reflect each other

and come back smudged in ink

I rest forehead on the mirror

and wait for the crack

to appear

punctuation

you give me a ??? look

and then we don’t speak

for quite a while

silence has its own grammar

and punctuation

it is important how not to

say certain things

or which words

you won’t use

I roll my eyes

and that’s the end of it

I haven’t not-said enough

I get up and start walking

leaving you with all the

? ! … and ()

Idontneedthemanymore

foil

I've made a hat

from the aluminium foil

I wear it indoors

to silence my own thoughts

I wear it outdoors

hidden under my hood

to silence the world

when the sun is really high

I use it to blind

passers-by

and myself

waiting

it’s fucking cold

I am waiting for you

it starts to snow

I find it uncalled-for

agreeing to ___

and ignoring ___

all of that

inside me

it’s fucking cold

cigarettes

are running low

I wait for ___

nothing but all of that

that is so far

and depersonalised

(fucking) cold

inside

I wait

I wait for you

global warming

words

fall out from my mouth

and reach the boiling temperature

air cools them down

with the hissing sound

of your breathes

life censors all of that

and no-body knows

that this is

the real cause

of the global warming

hlýja gangstéttir

sometimes I like to imagine

life in Iceland

with warm pavements

and always cloudless

sky

and that silence

that is inside me

over there

it covers all the planes

in my mind

Iceland

is cold

and changeless

like a waiting room

with moss pillows

for your tired thoughts

I sometimes put my head

into the fridge

and tell myself

I’m there

utan dig är jag, och jag mumlar att äga skägg

I’m here [without you]

and mumble to my own chin

beer mixes with my words

and flows into the larynx

…

I’m here [without you]

and try to play

cat’s cradle on my own

- it falls apart

…

I’m here [without you]

and raise my hand to my face

I straighten eyebrows with fingers

and get drunk a little bit more

ice

there is a thin ice

under our feet

your heartbeat makes it tremble

my breathe cracks it

we move slowly

avoiding each others eyes

I imagine black water

beneath us

and start to cry

you hold my cold hand

and stay silent

from far away we can hear

penguins singing

redolution

my nails are red

and that’s the whorish red

it attacks eyes

and makes them tear

I like to claim

that this is how the revolution starts

with pursed lips

I get even paler

it is required by this

dramatic situation

I carry stones

in my pockets

my eyes are hungry

and wide open

sometimes I forget to blink

and allow dust to set on them

stench of the petrol

gives me headaches

when we cling our glasses

it’s like a shot from the gun

like a distant explosion

like an echo from another time

later on we all die

in our sleep 

aleph/tav

you pack your things

and there is less and less

air that you've breathed out

I watch you from the corner

if asked - I pass to you

books

shirts

thoughts

you pack your things

and it almost seems

that you are building a golem

together we carve

a sign of aleph on its

forehead

it will protect you

when I am not there

you pack your things

I attach an old clock to my chest

it will ring when the time

comes.