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Tuesday, 19 August 2014 22:26


By  Joop Bersee

O yes! Right at the end,
surrendering our eyes,
belonging to destruction.
Look at the stains
on your hands,
a tongue
licking your skin
from the inside.
Once in a starched bed
visitors will
give flowers.
Then they leave,
after a few days
the flowers as well,
the stinking water
a catheter bag
in the shape of a vase.
And the person in bed using
an Ipod nano, earplugs,
listens closely like a doctor
to his stethoscope. Listens
to music and voices no
longer chained to time.

From: Hiraeth - 18 poems for my late mother (Unpublished)
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