My dead-yet-alive
are, you say, your
memory you’re keeping alive.
But no, without us they thrive.
This difference is more than semantics.
My dead-yet-alive
are, you say, your
memory you’re keeping alive.
But no, without us they thrive.
This difference is more than semantics.

I’ve peeled out the inner part of death
and he was not what he seemed.
His strutting gave lie to fear
and frankly to his wanting, to
filling himself with all that he wanted to be.

Loneliness is a thread sown
through each and every bone

This world flowing over
into the next

“Lekker zonnetje.”
“Wat maakt het zo klein?”
“De gezelligheid.”
