there’s no comfort elsewhere

 

certain words creating melodies creating harmony

 

a lot of undefinable river weed (what’s that?)

 

2,5 million clouds passing by with no car no noise

 

4 million poems concerning real meaningful content in musically wrapped metaphors with no emphasis and a lot of scattered Sap Ph O

 

dentists pronouncing terrible future happenings

 

lists in alphabetical order of books one should read before death strikes the hour

 

goddess-like ladies gossiping in line and comparing volumes and inner space

 

question marks where it should be full stops or exclamation marks or sheer exclamation

 

unreliable fishes

 

the bubbling of birth

 

poetry nothing but poetry

 

non-existing colors exterminated but saved nonetheless

 

itch in my eyes concerning nobody in particular

 

hatred of any ideology

 

at swim-two-birds

 

crime as creamy as crimson

 

every army is deemed to fail

 

there’s only this and here and now

 

space is the female body

 

striking encounters of the third kind

 

useless lists

 

sudden stone buddha’s among the weeds

 

studio clouds overhead and underneath, all on canvas or up there

 

hangmen in the dark

 

all shades of green and green like green from green as green as green can be

 

green

 

image by Max Ernst, La femme 100 têtes

 

some chickens survived, but not for long

 

watching without thinking

 

thinking without watching

 

several species of man-made creatures

 

the way the moon reappears suddenly in due time as she used to do

 

all the tired horses

 

seven dead cars and not even oldtimers

 

she came in through the bathroom window

 

examining windfall and haze

 

you try the rope and it holds

 

drink your yoghurt and stay firm

 

religion is the way of escaping reality and denying bodily facts

 

ignore this

 

level with the one you’re with

 

it’s certainly a nice running machine

 

can i have your picture naked?

 

some edifices don’t work properly, never will

 

i’m a monk and stay that way

 

nevertheless the stars, the countless stars

 

my kitchen is famous

 

if you tell me a lie, tell me a black lie, don’t tell me a white lie

 

do you like this garden?

 

stealth is a certain curtain

 

i don’t recognize this schoolyard anymore

 

and the wind cries mary

 

 

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Adriaan Krabbendam (Tunis, 1955) is antiquary, profound sleeper, doctor of the unknown, coachman of relations between the chthonic and the restricted human role in disasters, beachcomber laureate, firm simpleton, now and at the hour of our death, factotum of cities and landscapes, world without end

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