These collection of short poems are inspired by Roy Andersson’s dark comedy-drama film Songs from the Second Floor. A poem of sorts is narrated within the film, which I transposed into my own poems.

I began writing these poems in October 2018 when I first watched the movie alone upstairs on a school night. I wanted to explore my philosophical thoughts with the single statements. Of course, I just wrote what I felt at the time of reading the lines. My poems may seem surface-level, but I am surprised to read back and witness what I was thinking two years prior.

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Beloved be the unknown man and his wife

A babe, who is born, of flesh and of blood,
With porcelain-smooth skin and innocent eyes,
Takes his first breath, shaky and unsteady.

The infant, with a weak grasp on living,
Who knows only to suckle on his mother,
Knows only how to take and to receive.

The human can crawl and walk and run, yes,
But the human will still fall and stumble,
Even as he grows, he is still feeble.

Beloved be the one who sleeps on his back.

The first time you sleep,
Bundled in cloth, arms swaddled inside a blanket,
Legs in, head out, in a crib, on your back.

As you grow older,
The body finds itself in pursuit for more
Starfish, freefall, soldier, back to fetal

The last time you sleep,
A life long lived, joints and limbs stale and brittle
Maybe buried in a casket, back in the earth

Beloved be the bald man without hat

I have this condition.
You might know what it is?
I live with it everyday. It’s called self-consciousness.
Remember that one time
I only wore that one sweatshirt for two weeks
It was the only outfit I could stomach wearing. I didn’t want to see my body if I changed.
Like that other time
I stopped laughing in that one hallway
Because someone made fun of my smile. And I still hear them in that hallway.
I hope this condition disappears.
I saw this one guy
Bald and shiny. I would’ve worn a hat, but he told me the wind felt nice on his head.

Beloved be the one who sweats out of pain or out of shame

To be jack of all trades or master of one,
Which seems like the preferable option?

Blood, sweat, and tears shed noiselessly,
Your body hollers in pain endlessly.

Why not ease off the gas
And just fully relax?

All our efforts to succeed and exceed,
Gone after our hearts cease and our skin recedes.

What pathetic organisms, humans
Who only know to excrete and rid and lose the very compound they need to survive.

The one who pays with what he does not have

Working, toiling, struggling, gasping,
What is the purpose? What do we live for?

A loaf of bread here and there, laundry detergent, a new pair of jeans,
Capitalistic ants, charging up and down aisles at Wal-Mart

Born into a system that will not die,
Ruled by wealthy pigs who wallow in the blood of the poor

Just bought a new phone,
I’m moving up!

The one who no longer remembers his childhood.

My mind is like the universe but without the stars
No galaxies, no nebulas, no celestial bodies
Just the residue of space dust
The flashing glimpse of a distant memory

My life is like an untimed race
No opponents, no checkpoints, no timers
Running through an obstacle course
There is nothing to do but move forward

I see no image and hear no sound
My nose is filled with unnamed scents
My fingers feel unidentified textures
A day passes as I fail to understand it

I perceive no past nor future
I live in the moment like a condemned prisoner
What is a childhood?
When was I a child?

Beloved be the just man without thorns.

I am a pushover
Like an apple turnover but I offer all my apples
And I just turn to the next person to serve

I live to help
“What can I do for you?” I pester and bug
Until I become a pest and a bug

A person without a spine,
A vertebrate without a backbone,
A chicken without the feathers

I’m a rose without thorns
So pristine, no way to harm you
Might as well tear off the leaves and peel off the petals

The one who wears a watch and has seen God.

The sensuous and sophisticated jeweler,
A man who revels in jewels and doles gold,
Rich with wealth, wealthy and enriched

A man who is liberated monetarily
Who also is free from God
No entity could constrain him

He has seen God once before:
In the reflection of his 16th century fresco of Jesus Christ
Plastered on the ceiling of his urban studio apartment

The one who has honor and does not die!

Drown underwater!
Suffocate until you die!
No, I choose my fate