door Lyanne Tonk
the man who wandered the streets with a bald, protruding stick of a meter and a half, dazed,
the woman who harvested her groceries at home washed adrift,
the girlfriend who didn’t want to meet up to save me from Evil,
the couple who lived in their conjugal emptiness and lost themselves in getting rid of what was and would remain,
the ‘look me’ gym girls in the park with their ‘look me’ gym pants with ‘look me’ triangles,
the tailor who sewed mouth caps from old bedding,
the hated neighbor who loudly barked her lungs out begging for alms of compassion,
the read-hungry hunters on the hunt for good news,
the vegans eating meat croquettes from a boiling hot fryer,
the dry lovers and mistresses looking for their off knob.
What about me?
I squirted into the night
door P. Laars