
Your space program
You launch to land on
ever-smaller stars.
Your rockets go up
in micro-tiny flames.
Cowboy balladeer

No one’s here

You ‘n’ drugs
You steal your life
from your cheek and your chest.
Your god is your soul, fracked,
burning in the sky
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