stiletto crow - poetry show

FRESH AND DUSTY


As the sneers drift windward
from Hotel Metropolis I ask myself
am I what’s outside of me?

was Nick’s affection for the Koningsplein
and the ugly corners of the city ironic?
or absurd?
of serieus?

alles
uglicity, ons bezit
our cattle list

the Duvelhok man
Sam Sam’s boots of ages
which stay crisp in rain

Tilburg
no monument to itself
people make the most of it
people make the city? / or the city makes people?
this we shall not determine
zonder een Glock 49
op onze slaap gericht

spiritus tankless – it’s a rehearsed battle

we’re dreamers
we’re an eight-year old with some decks
we zijn Chris de stapschrijver
im
-media
-see

we’re monks on skateboards doing sacred kick-flips
nous sommes la poubelle
een stedelijke lentetuin
fresh and dusty
we’re an alpine scene on a chipped mug
what’s outside of us and inside of us
we’re Australia
we’re Anakin Skywalker’s doubts and Lolita’s pouts

as I cycle reverie-slow down the Lancierstraat
I notice
an
unkempt
. . climbing
. rose,
. . . angular
. . and
. . . . wiggly - like
a techno dancer

I see through invisible buildings Moerenburg’s golden tree

het is ‘s nachts
slakken leave trails
from the short hill
to the fivespring

is this pride I smell my own?