Bart J.G. Bruijnen


1,2,3 Poems 


Hear, the props here they’re all wrong
And I’m possessed or I am cursed
But I got you in my scene
Say, my mattress it is hunger
My blanket it is thirst
You lie so sweetly in between

Look, there was a day I changed
And it was measured, it was noted
But the fall back made them blind
Raise, you five o’clock shade!
Let’s take the pleasure double coated
And leave our spines far behind
And I’m swimming out…

But, the writing all might be done
Returning soon to our known hive
Predictability rules!
But, the old jokes: far more fun
I’m a cartoon, I’m not alive
And my mould was one of fools
And I’m swimmin’ out to drown an ounce of clouds
I need a chemical decision
A chemical decision
You will need one soon…
Look, it’s a full moon!


I need my first commandment first
Before I thrill and do my worst
I’m lying here
In my old favorite you
I had to spill my cup of thirst
My dream it wouldn’t have me nursed
It burst in red and then went into blue

My life is an absorbing bin
Just put more of that litter in
You’re feeding me
But I don’t taste the peach
Today was like it’s always been
The wonder it is in the sin
I’m picking up the thing I cannot reach

Who told you what the others dare?
I think mostly they are unaware
You’re laughing now
And painting me a face
I went up just to get some air
You told me you were never there
And you precisely said the time and place

Those people here, o, they’re afraid
They think their beds will soon be made
I’m watching here
At my old favorite you
I had to pass the butcher’s gate
He made his joke and made me wait
But finally my patience got me through


So they have closed down your Kindergarten
And you didn’t even open your invitation
You sat at home with your penicillin addiction
To avoid the grand narratives of your generation

You used to mess up every slippage of meaning
Every gesture of dissent you gave two shadows of doubt
Sunday morning take it as a Friday evening
Stay in and take your Stockholm syndrome out

It’s time you go and pinball your way back home
If you’re honest there weren’t that many prizes
There’s nothing but a breeze in your thunderdome
It’s just sad in all its many guises

Now take your zoot suit and your glad rags off
You should be oh so gentle to Veraguth’s fold
And you can hide your breathing, but not your cough
You’re old, it’s not just something you’ve been told

And you’re always trying to free Angela Davis again
While the discounts have all been withdrawn
You’re waving the memories of your flags
But your pigtailed girlfriend has gone
(Your pigtailed girlfriend has gone…)

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