For all your roads you’ve left
no one real one,
just this scent and broken twig
and heady subjugation.
People
Dogs
Why faith doesn’t do what it should do
The lesser god of absence
One day we’ll know
You don’t want to be in Ubud
At this hour
on this street
if you’re looking for enlightenment.
Or does it indeed begin
with monkeys and chimes
and the gas of a million machines?
Mo’ better blues
A tray of offerings
Footsteps, balance and smoke.
Morning
Serenity now
Utrecht Journal 