poems scribbled on small papers in tampere
a stream of divine
flies buzz, no
ears to her the
bliss
give two hands
a chance to dance
on rigid backs turned
to gods of the
daylight mass
hate to break this
to you, dear
reader: this pen
is in the hands
of a dyslexic
words carry but
the weight of
thought
under the colored
lamps, high spirits;
no way to share
the mind's sights
time loops around
eternity, only eyes
carry pure beauty
I am here and nowhere
is my home
wrapped around a
fragile pinkie that
breaks when I
hail from deep within
some day the
shattered tiny bones
can carry a weight
meant to be that of
the lightest heart
