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?
Friday, 26 June 2009
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