Big Fat Poughkeepsie In A Bowling Alley

You have enough

to complain.

Another Letter To A Friend

I'm not living too much

in Amsterdam anymore,

been concentrating

on the many years now.

Tradition

I’ve been almost

Never at home

at the end of the dirt road
there's a waist-high gate
someone's bothered to lock

To The Drunks At Enghave Plads

bodies at rest

cannot be stopped

become the stench

of winter nights

I believe in not

neither but

in the place

where all

that's gone

Who What Where When

Why’s alone

How's the dark