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Please stop following me.\n[[1|sleep]]\n[[2|cities]]

Storytellers have lost their throne.

Young ones in bed lying about brushed teeth\n\n[[1|Grandchildren]]\n[[2|Storyteller]]

Old Finnish men wear hats.\n[[1|Sombre]]\n[[2|Hat]]

Think of a reindeer antler cut and broken\n[[1|Crunch]]\n[[2|Fright]]

Children’s books lying broken on dusty floors\n\n[[1|axe]]\n[[2|father]]

Streets speak sleek sleet sleep.

What is a hat?\n[[1|Reindeer]]\n[[2|Crowd]]

You always loved the sound of snow crunching\n[[1|moonlight]]\n[[2|empty]]

Do you notice the shadows on the way to the bathroom?\n\n[[1|Spring]]\n[[2|Summer]]

Grandchildren now fear their grandparents.\n

I don’t know what to do about naked bodies.

We know where to fetch firewood when necessary.

I can't find father.

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Children crying for juice and other things\n[[1|barns]]\n[[2|firewood]]

Strange Hats

Empty childhood homes emptied by urbanization.

Turning the cheek too Christian I feel.

Helsinki thinking spiteful things\n[[1|Young]]\n[[2|Notice]]

I can’t find father’s axe.

Shoulders against cement, ushered there by strong grips

Always despair and always an earful,\n[[1|books]]\n[[2|crying]]

Cities remain strange in that anemic before-dawn, even after years.

We never knew when to stop turning the page

Sombre faces,\n[[1|Helsinki]]\n[[2|Despair]]

I guess I’ll never see another country summer

But I think the sound tonight rather frightens\n[[1|pages]]\n[[2|christian]]

These caps without faces dotting the crowd\n[[1|always]]\n[[2|please]]

We leave the barns to rot, the pain peeling.\n

Shadows always frighten\n[[1|naked]]\n[[2|cement]]

The dark trees against moonlight, or perhaps moonlight against dark trees

I miss the sounds of spring

Gersande