the sheer blond sheen of sidewalk
devoid of obvious litter,
as an aryan god walks by
neither happy nor bitter.
the little mermaid
sits covered in bird poop,
she could use a real bath
says the newspaper scoop.
the restless churning of christiania,
sans any sign of strife,
another clueless hippie makes his way
looking for the remains of his wife.
the carlsberg can starts to boil
under sun that feels like a stranger,
for it to become a dear friend
perhaps all those wind turbines
would be in danger.
copenhagen crawls, from under a shell at night,
as the northern lights
are still way too distant
to be truly bright.
