The Day I turned 15 (again)

And while the moon
and hidden stars
shone above me

through the
smog ridden
metropolitan sky
I turned 15 again:

sweaty palms,
dry throat and
a heart that would
NOT

stop
beating.
Longing to kiss
and be kissed,

to touch and be

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Joint At Deathbed

I smoked a joint
at my granddad’s deathbed.
In the living room of
childhood memories
Inhaling and Exhaling
blue plumes of smoke
Hours before he
drew HIS
last breath.

And
sitting at his deathbed.
as the grandfather clock struck
and the streetlamp outside the window
was turned on
and later off
I made my peace with God
and all consuming time

I smoked a joint

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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Dream On

Dark road.
Radio on.
Late night
turning into
early morning
day.
The two of us,
sharing a
joint,
on our way,
to imaginary
better place.

Having finished
it,
you flick the butt
out the window.

We were talking about
something indifferent

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poem by Carsten Thomsen
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