You steal your life
from your cheek and your chest.
Your god is your soul, fracked,
burning in the sky
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Factory
His little itch
Someone with his key has
tagged my window – scratch
scratch his little itch – so
I see him and not
the water the school the wood –
see his soul stretched. Yes,
I see and am with him, I am
in him now and go with him.
I go with him all around.
Kanaalstraat 65
The blacker the branch
The blacker the branch, the
redder the eye that
peers knowingly in my room
When I was sick and could fly
Once while
sick at school
in the nurse’s bed
I thought of spies
and crossed the room
and never tripped the alarm
Eyes
Detail from “Apocalypse” by Marc Mulders. Catharijneconvent, Utrecht.
That the most natural things are the most painful looking back
Not calling.
It ending.
Never saying thanks.
Running
A rigor short of mortis
Biking the rainbow
Troubled by the flood below
Utrecht Journal 