Dead Poets Scout
ZombieBloem chases me everywhere
for he wants to bribe good songs from me.
At the butcher, supermarket or Gal & Gal:
that dilapidated head,
that wrecked fished-up bike look.
‘Lend me something to sing, Benders.
Dying is also scrapping, Benders.’
And then he always loses something,
a phalanx, a finger, an eye.
And before the dark ones come
with the slow morrowing broom wagons,
to round him up, he has
palmed me a new dream already.
A dowie moon shines over mossy graves,
“Every Dead Boy Deserves Fudge” in milky waves.
Distances hoot into distances.
The darkness brittles against unliffed light.
Love of darkness, from the fat-starry prose
baggaging the lips with sweet repose.
Both poems from Lippenspook / Traktaat van de Zon, 2021