snow cannons are falling from American purplesky
I see it plastic-clear in a neon window in the midst
of the black, on a thousand eyelids they fall like
propaganda they fall and I wonder about the
tons of sleep I have eaten with a mouth
full of smile and I think of all the deep blue darkness
I inhaled to make my lungs assemble the night

I almost know when my finger freezes my body is only
a slush-ice machine of strawberry blood
I see my eyes slowly evolve into old 3D-glasses
the ones you throw in a barrel when you’re out of sight

I think of my brain as a yellow turbine for dreams that swirl
like the one where I tap a dead rat in
coat of gold to get to its luminous
ever synthetic heart

they fall reflected in the neon, I ask again and again
I ask on a knee full of Botox exactly how many nails
I have to break when I finger the one I think I love
I ask how many PD-courses I have to suck to prevent
my penis from dwelling into nothingness underneath
the endless skyscrapers here under the gloomy scalp of smog
under vertical infinite infinity

I ask you to see this cadaver with the concrete arthritis
swimming slowly but safely to the tip of my toe
I ask you too burn in a blitz in my eye

I think about buildings and sex and I wonder
how much Jewish foreskin it takes to cover Empire State,
how much radicalized foreskin to build an airplane
how many emperors it takes to screw a light bulb straight
through positive plasma

I ask with words sizzling electrically on a tongue
guilty of so much charcoal
how many dead eyes you normally use in oatmeal
and how much hair you put in robot soup and how much
of the neon of my life I have to sacrifice for a responsible Spring
in my hands’ crater of Autumn’s x-ray flood or on the deserted shore
of my shipwrecked lovefallings

I’m a stranger to the soil, so thin I grew up like indigo cress
I never knew the sour milk, and I caressed my GM-carrot like
a condom I ate it yes I did under shell under shell under shell
but the past is so last year and the only soluble plastic I own
is my second

now snow cannons fall from American purplesky
as I brush my eyelids I prepare to look for impossible fruit
so I rise on my libertine heel, I rise on my foot of glass
put on my Styrofoam hat, shit red and hail a cab

Jonathan Hedegaard is a freshman majoring in Fine Arts at SVA. He is a published writer in his native Denmark, and he usually writes in Danish, his mother tongue. This is his first publication in English.