Room 33 (on the rope) for
Jef
cancer
war day rubs itself out
penniless bard
lend
me the lute
roll out the red carpet for the night
majesty
the
owl the moon and the girl dream away the hungry python
the
Flemish calf as well waggling on wobbly feet towards the slaughterhouse
gnawed
at
honk
honk honk
Turnhout Brussels is on
fire
we
were two small hairs on the ear of a young hippopotamus
later
we made our own ears flap but refrain from laughter
at
drifting snowflakes like tiny letters
a
vagrant that slept to death in an overheated car
a
businessman reads folds his newspaper it
grows
cold then let me take you away to the land of Ben the mountain
hear
the inaudible song by the brook in the conifer wood
thousands
of moons old and The Haunted Inn still stands there
in
time like a murder
the previous owners one of them shot
through
the door at his brother on the other side brother shot back
so
write yourself gone till we too are erased beneath six feet of snow
journey’s
end
from
far and near you check in here
it’s
raining ravens 200 deer bell desolately
floored – Room
33
a
will-o’-the-wisp feels up the woman till she sings
the
night falls like a spider
snow
whirls in its midst
stretch
the rope my love
hang on the rope
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