This fabulous frowning sky
peeling down her gown of milk
weeps with us for what’s forlorn

and still is visible for the ancient eye
flushed and swimming down upstream
against all odds in darker hues of blue

what the fickle fate is this swarm to us
a poem, a letter of love, a home?
all we do is sing and shedding soul

kneelin’ alone beside the fire
smell your armpits as reliable
as the swallowing hedgehog 

in the shrubs declaring the dark
as snug and better hug
than all our favourite fuck

 

 

 

 

image: Weeping Willow by Guido Utermark

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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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