Hologram (translated)

    Wary and full of hunger, we lie
    the rumor of Love
    with such haste
    for physicality,
    the urgency to embrace
    blurs our faces

    Reluctantly, we find
   there is truth in tenderness.
    But like former convicts
    unpracticed in honesty,
    we let it slip between the bars
    of doubt

    We’re not living we just
    flutter
    and hope to touch something real.

Hologram (origineel)

Vol van leegte liegen we
het gerucht van liefde
met zo’n smacht
naar tastbaarheid,
gezichten vervaagd
door de haast
om te omhelzen

Doch aarzelend wanneer
dichtbij, de tederheid
glipt voorbij
aan deze voormalige gevangenen,
ongeoefend in eerlijkheid
tussen tralies van twijfel

Wij leven niet, wij zweven
en hopen
iets echts aan te raken

Grab a seat, don’t take your coat off
    in your own house, I’m not staying,
    only until it clears up; if I go out now
    I will sink into the ground, You say
    as you sink into a chair - a creaking noise,
    to remind you.

    You survive on the short sugar rush
    of a Proustian coffee; the past is a gentle
    unfaithful lover
    I’ll call them. Put on your nicest voice,
    sing yourself to them.
    But you push in so many words;
    they can’’t understand.

 Fall asleep, don’t take off your coat
    in your own bed, I’m not sleeping,
    so when they ring, my phone or door,
    I can open up. I can go home, You say,
    but the blinds have been down so long
    you can’t see when it stops raining

    It hurts to see you try.

grief, a melody I composed
out of the trill in your lips
and in mine, regretting
not having kissed you alive
when you came to me, a corpse in disguise,
a costume
wearing a hero beyond saving
and I knew by the season in your eyes
and the chill in your finger tips:
through doors you thought you closed
winter came in

your encore ends
with a last arpeggio, mine

Prophets in suits spell your name across the rails

in black-and-white pictures, hung up like wet laundry

Afraid of drying, the words in your last breath climb

towards the approaching train lights.

At sunrise, I hurry to pick up the vowels, but they bite my hands,

cursing me for hoping you’ll burn

slowly, for attempting to steal your voice

so you wouldn’t die screaming