In Amsterdam we lived on Rooseveltlaan

in the Rivierenbuurt our courtyard

was a school’s playground the kids screamed

and ran and attacked each other

I went to a hypnotist I’m afraid the plane

will crash you’ll be dead it won’t matter

Clinton was bombing Kosovo

it didn’t matter I walked to the Tollstraat Greenhouse

bought weed and drank tea the weather

was bad I didn’t notice

I was playing music writing poems

time was getting older the poems

and the songs were getting worse

eventually we moved to Koningsstraat

the people were artists the poems got worse

and I didn’t play music the people

disappeared and we moved to Portugal

by accident the weather was good

I noticed but the sun was bad

I didn’t write poems and I didn’t play

I kept going back to Amsterdam

everyone got older and nobody mattered

the weather was bad and I noticed