Carsten Thomsen Poems

Pants around ankles
taking a dump
Morning sunshine
through window
...

Dirty kids
to young to know
playing
in dead end
...

Before the Indians
became
Indians
before
...

And as the hands of my executioner
twitching in joyful anticipation
reaches for my bottle of sparks
I notice the hands on my watch
...

As the
vultures
descended
As the wolves
...

0
No
Nej
Niet
...

To the sound of

cigarette smoke
...

Fighting losing battle
against the urge
and for your time
up-hill and against the wind
...

I pity
and envy
...

I have friends
you know

Friends
...