Johannes Göransson

I should wash my hands
my fists are full of flowers
that are dry and seeds
leak out of my mouth
in Giovanni’s room
I should write a poem
en havssång en hava sång
about owning these flowers
and the seed or about my lips
about syréner
inside my impossible room
my name is Giovanni again
and I write a poem
about the rats
how they are currency
rått valuta raw currency
and I have rått skuld
in my poems about pöbeln
råttorna are so loud
I can hardly sleep
the rabble is shouting
inside mitt rat heart
råtthjärta råhjärta
for a gun
they want my gun
they want my gun
they want a gun paradise