zondag 29 december 2013

unfinished poem

So, must I feel intruder? a Viking violating vineyards with his lumix camera,
staring (or avoiding so) at forbidden
(outside bedrooms for the fortunate or)

(or, rather, the unfortunate, the ill at ease)

Personally I am not in need of people looking for pleasure
on a beach full of other people
Seagulls measure the rumbling surf. No pelicans. Not even a dove.

Let's leave, someone may have thought,
Sunset Boulevard to others,
to those who are not said to be conquerers of a new orb
but the destroyers of it

those having unspeakable lives and dirted names
lives that history will not glimpse at
unable to pronounce its frozen characters

to those that leave nothing else but history

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