"When I grow up I want to be a poet" by Kim Göransson

KIM GÖRANSSON

WHEN I GROW UP

I WANT TO BE A POET

UB

thanks for reading

an undergroundbooks.org

uncopyrighted book of

smeared ink

WHEN I GROW UP

I WANT TO BE A POET

TO BEND MY HEART

SO THAT IT TOUCHES

YOURS

JUST ONCE

OR HOLD

AN ENTIRE OCEAN

ON 3

FINGERTIPS

IT WAS SOMETHING ABOUT A LETTER

A LETTER OR A DOG

ABOUT WALKING PAST THE HOUSE

AND NOT LOOKING BACK

DOWN BY THE WATERFRONT

A GANG OF YOUNG NAZIS

PLAYING MINIGOLF

FEEDING THE SEAGULLS

“IT SEEMS SO IMPOSSIBLE

THAT BEHIND EVERY WINDOW

THERE ARE REAL PEOPLE

LIVING REAL LIVES”

MAYBE IF I WAS A POET

I COULD HOLD YOU

RIGHT THROUGH THIS

PAPER

SO HARD

BUT MAYBE...

NOT

MAYBE ALL WORDS ARE

DIFFERENT TO EVERYONE

AND NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW

ANYONE ELSE

ONCE THERE WAS A BOY

RUNNING THROUGH THE THORNS

WITHOUT A NAME

IN A BOOK WITHOUT A SPINE

A STORY ONLY MOTHERS KNEW

BEFORE THE SKY WAS FULLY FORMED

I SIT IN THE TALL GRASS I AM

THE INTRUDER PLEASE

EXCUSE MY CHEWY FLESH

A GIFT TO THE GAPING TEETH

OF THE UNDERBRUSH

HOW LONG WOULD IT TAKE

TO COMPLETELY DISAPPEAR

INTO SUCH A WARM MOUTH

GREEDY BURROW

IN THE MOSS

NOT EVEN A BONE

WOULD REMAIN

BUT THE SORROWFUL HUMMING OF

A THOUSAND TONGUELESS MOTHERS

A THOUSAND MOTHERLESS TONGUES

I HOLD THE FLAME

UNDER THE PETALS AND BURN

THE SUN THROUGH THE TREES

HOLD STILL THE PAIN

I AM SOMEONE’S PETALS

I LAY MY HEART ON THE ROCKS

AND SLEEP

SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT BEING

A SCHOOL SHOOTING VICTIM

I’M WALKING DOWN THE CORRIDOR

COVERED IN BLOOD

EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT ME

EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT ME

EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT ME

IMAGINE A ROOM

FURTHEST FROM THE WINDOW

FATHER TELLS THE STORY

OF THE CYCLOPS

THE STORY OF JAPAN

AND THE GIANT STOMACH ACHE

THERE IS AN OPENING

MAYBE THERE IS AN OPENING

ALL PEOPLE HAVE THEIR

HEARTS IN DIFFERENT PLACES

STASHED IN THE BASEMENT

I KEEP SEEING THE BOY

“LET’S PLAY A GAME OF

HIDE AND SEEK”

“LET’S PLAY A GAME OF

ALONE”

I’M NO ONE

UNDER THE KITCHEN TABLE

I DON’T HAVE TO CRY BUT DO

SO SOMEONE WILL NOTICE

MY TEARS ARE PURPLE ASHES

MY COSTUME UNPRECEDENTED

MY LINES

ARE WELL-REHEARSED

“NO” I SAY

“YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT”

MY SADNESS

IS A DRUM THAT

WAKES NO ONE

MY SADNESS

FALLS ON ITS FACE

AND NO ONE LAUGHS

MY SADNESS

CLINGS TO A BRIDGE

WITH A VIEW TO THE CITY

WELCOME TO THE CITY

SAYS MY SADNESS

THE TOUR GUIDE

EVEN THE NEGOTIATOR

LOSES HIS TEMPER

THEN MY SADNESS

JUMPS LAUGHING

INTO THE BLACK NOTHING

A HYSTERICAL LAUGH THAT

HAS NO SHAME

THE DREAM IS THE SAME

EVERY NIGHT

SLOWLYWATERFILLINGMYLUNGS SLOWLYWATERFILLINGMYLUNGS

THE SKY

HURTS SO

MUCH

BECAUSE

MY

LIPS

WILL

NEVER

TOUCH

MY

OWN

BACK

AND IT’S

ALL MY

FAULT

WHEN I WAKE UP

THE VIEW OUTSIDE MY WINDOW

NEVER CHANGES

WHEN I GROW UP

I WANT TO BE A POET

FEEL THE ORACLE

THRUMMING IN MY THROAT

AND NAIL MY TONGUE

TO THE SIDEWALK

FOR 100 DAYS

WITH A SIGN THAT SAYS

“GATHER THE TEARS

OF A SCYSCRAPER”

“WHOLE SUMMERS

ARE SPENT

IN THIS WAY”

SO FAR AWAY

WHAT FITS IN ONE HAND

THE WOMAN ON THE SEVENTH FLOOR

BALCONY

LOST IN THOUGHT

AND THE VINES

ONE DAY I GO WALKING

IN THESE WOODS

ONE DAY I GO WALKING AN EXILE

IN THE MOSS

MOUTH FULL OF

THESE DENSE WOODS I GO WALKING

ONE DAY I AM NO ONE

BUT THE VINES

THE QUIET ANCIENT LANGUAGE

ENSNARES ME

MAKE MY GUTS TURN

MY INSIDES RESEMBLE

THESE WOODS’ TORN EDGES

GUTS HUMMING THE DIRT SONG

SWELLING MOTHER

NOW FILL MY LUNGS

SWELLING MOTHER OF

THE ANCIENT TALKING TONGUES

GROW A GENTLE BIRCH

IN MY CHEST

A DAY IN THE WOODS

TO SIT ABSOLUTELY STILL IN

TO ENTER THE SWARM OF

THE PINES SEWING SHUT

THE EYES THE BREATHING SLOWS

I’M A NEEDLE BED

ON MY STOMACH I

CLOSE MY EYES AND SINK

FEELING A LEAF FEELING THE EARTH

FOLDING ITSELF

AROUND AND IN

UB

NEW

LITERATURE

FOR

CHILDREN

ALL AGES

WW

W.U

ND

ER

GR

OU

ND

BO

OK

S.O

RG