laughter
black streams pouring from his shoes
a nesting lamppost lingers over the empty street
he stops at the fresco building by the blind alley
irritated streams between his lungs and abdomen
curls on the spindly sofa inside
among the corroded legs of the couches
a swarm
of lingering smoke and laughter
“…sperm is the only thing which can take us over the grave”
he stops
frost descending on tar rooftops
and at lung black streets
a lighthouse flutters out oxygen over yonder
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| Anton Shults |
Ande Enochsson (b.1979) lives in Uppsala, Sweden. He writes short fiction and poetry and maintains a blog named Faun. Some of his pieces have been published in, for instance, Fosebook and Smokestack. Ande is also an editor of the literary journal Rufous Salon.

1 comment:
Don't get any on my grave. Awesome poem - thanks for it, Ande.
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