(a nightexcursion at Gravensteen)

crossroads of smell and powdered eyebrows
the highpriests are putting flames into the citycandles
all the city's phantoms are drinking
in the castle surrounded by trafficlights

her bright lips are  printed on linnen dreams
her wet hands dripping as she climbs the fruittree of her body
like a trapezedancer in the sunlight circus of her mind
looking down on the ecstatic glow of her skin into the vertigo of mosaic thoughts

make her hearth tremble
make the skin come of like the crust of a vulcano
make the silence whisper featherlike words
a  bath of tickling stars resounding the arrousal of her voice

in the castle where nobody lives anymore
it is quiet in the starless night
no one expects ...an orgy of hellish butterflies and perfumed ghosts
for their invisibility sleeps ...inside the mouth of desire

you call towards the boredom of this town
you curse the moderne age as blasphemeous
the emptyness in the peoples souls
but it's the dead who are partying hardest .