everything
I've believed
was a vitamin
deficiency
In Amsterdam we lived on Rooseveltlaan
in the Rivierenbuurt our courtyard
was a school’s playground the kids screamed
ran and attacked each other
I went to a hypnotist I’m afraid the plane
will crash but it won’t matter
Clinton was bombing Kosovo
it didn’t matter I walked to the Tollstraat
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
I didn’t play music we moved to Portugal
the people disappeared 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
Lost in that I can’t be found
crossing Campo Pequeno
or riding my scooter
toward the Marginal
under the aqueduct
through Praca Espagna
where Marco sold two
Euro bits of hash
and the boys drank
beer all day
or boarding a plane
to our house in Amsterdam
where my Josh White
and Big Bill Broonzy
CDs were it got
to where I felt at home
it looks like no one
lives here she said
no one does I said
For twenty three years
there was a leak in the roof
I stuffed it with a plastic bag
when we first moved in
forgot then spent ten years
writing and drinking smoking
while it endlessly rained
mornings hungover on terraces
wandering the east afternoons
leaving the lotus eaters
to laugh alone
one night around eleven
I went out they were still there
what are you doing here they asked
the dumb music blared
I was bored I said
of writing and drinking smoking
no one knew I wrote
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