Splash!

Pants around ankles
taking a dump
Morning sunshine
through window
and the smell
of my own
humanity
in the air
Having finished
my business
I notice my face
in the mirror
and momentarily
contemplate
shaving,
cutting down,
shaping up,
mending my ways,
and braking the circle:
I dress,

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Amulet

Before the Indians
became
Indians
before
Germany
had lost
the war
TWICE
lived a man
whose hands made in clay
this emblem
of his faith
To protect him
on his pilgrimage
or from
robbers
snakes
and ghosts
in general
I do not know

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Some Choose a Whisky Death.

Some choose a whisky death.
A taxpaying
coward’s death.

Slower
but with the same end
result
as tightening noose
or piercing bullet
or life
in general.

Some choose a whisky death.

While Death’s Icy Hand
raises frosty jug of
beer
they
burn bridges
and candles

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Braindead

It could have been me
There
On life support

Bruised
Broken
boned
Bedritten
Bandaged
&
Braind ead

Fractured skull leaking
Glassy eyes seeing
nothing
Darth Wader Breathing
Monotonously
Unreal

They tell me

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Sunday

To the sound of

cigarette smoke

and ice cubes

melting

sweet flavor of

thin air and time

deliberately

wasted

the sweet

caress of

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Evolution

The firefly -
with the hermit crab
a close second
appears to me
as the
pinnacle of evolution
with man kind
stuck somewhere
between
hyena
and leech
And I wonder
when and how
it all happened
When these P.hd.’s
of science
and walking armors
sitting in the darkness
on a twig
above/ in

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Tattoo

Wearing little
but pants
a grin and cigar
you laughed
out loud
your crazy grin.
Your arms covered
in scars
and
gang tattoos
from your
colorful past.
Still embedded in arm;
a bullet,
and in your head
the story
of how
and when
and why
Seeing you there

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Date

Fighting losing battle
against the urge
and for your time
up-hill and against the wind
to tonight's TV-program
your sister or mom
or this.

As your calm
Transatlantic -voice
telling me your

'…with your date'

numbs me with
fears
I honestly thought
had died with us
I realize
Its been months

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Sound of Fear

With lingering memory
of the sound of fear
in the voices of men
Screeching tires
A soul's assent
Crumbling metal
and bone
I came
to my senses
Trembling
Broken
Sedated
Incap acitated
but breathing

You came to see me
as I slept
and though gone
when I awoke
my thoughts

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Nun

She was black.
A salvation army nun,
and I was just me,
though richer than

usual,
waiting
for my connection
to take me to heaven

to my version of God.
She asked and I gave.
“You are a good man”
she told me.

“God will not forget you.”
“God is dead.” I replied.'
“..and you don’t need

Nietzsche or the 12 o’clock

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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