for CM Lundberg

Oh the peasants of the moon
who farm ailing beefsteaks in the dust
and tend to their flocks of hubris
tenderly kissing the crocodiles that revolve in the hearts of their children
and wishing for snow
and dreaming of snow
they spend their lunar days gazing at the blue sun
washing down their fishpaste sandwiches with beakers of mead
and sing sad songs
and play the wah-wah
in their tepid lakes they go paddling in the spring
with their children running up and down the shoreline
catching crabs in their hats
secretly wishing for snow
and all the peasants gather in the farmyard
and count the crabs as the children drop them on the ground
the crabs crawl around in the dry dust
nobody knows what to do with them
the children get bored and forget them
the crabs lie and wait in the dust
and then in the night the lunar horses come into the farmyard
wishing for snow
dreaming of snow
the crabs climb onto the horses’ backs
and ride over the horizon
towards the blue sun
the horses feel free until morning
galloping all down the shoreline
the crabs in their manes
with shells shining like snow

Götgatan, Stockholm, 17 February 2012

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