Gothenburg, Sweden


Sometimes I can’t bear to look at beauty
Feeling like the itch of cold winter palms
The flicker and shadow of the horrible
Hidden beneath the blink of an eye

It becomes a hunt for flaws and failings
To justify the distance I’ve stepped off
Spectator, chance participant
Finding truth in a fold of cloth
An older man’s thanks and homage,
Cheap glass reflections
And I’ll get over it…

To wake up early to the impurity of love
And to stand transparent to beauty.