Walking the road I lost in woods
Feet became light, eyes had a glow, moon was bright
Cool wind touched my hair
I saw Alice, she said : "Beware"

When I have woken, after dawn has broken
I took the pill for that magic thrill
I sat on window for the cigarette blow
I was in place where I don't want to go.

Lucius D. Luuk

My shadow's brighter than I am.
I think I'm fadin'.
But the Moonlight,
She keeps me down
She warms my heart
Embraces my soul,
Her light.
She pierces through me.
I want to feel her
Want to hold her,
In my hands.
But,
So far she is from me.
I am doomed for whole my life,
Here, somewhere in universe, on this rock.
Drinking rain and eating dirt.
Eternally standing.
I saw when she was born,
From the stone she was divided.
I don't want to think about it.
The moment,
The one in which she will be vanishing.
What will I do here alone,
In this nothingness?
For that moment,
Now I shed the tear
'Cause I'll watch her disappear.
The Moonlight bright,
Only her I've seen the light.

Lucius D. Luuk

In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.

Though, he loved the sky.
Every night he would be here
And he would make love with stars,
On the slay.
They loved him.
Sky took him away.
One of them then he was.
But I haven't seen his shine for a long time.
It was same as the one in his eyes when he left,
Griefly pale.

In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.

Lucius D. Luuk

October 1888. Oil on canvas, 72 x 90 cm

Slaapkamer te Arles. Not really.
‘His own ear?’ she says, a twentieth time.

A Wednesday, fortnight before Christmas.
Her idea. Evening flight out of Gatwick.

I’ve been before. Amsterdam that is,
with the lads, before the grind of Year 13.

Pure banter? Far from it. But the chemicals
jived in our lungs, made us all skew-whiff.

This week it’s been Anne Frank,
koffietijd and stroopwafels five at a time,

a bartender called Luuk plying me
with Heineken. Liquid emeralds.

Anyway, the painting: forget-me-not walls,
golden bedframe. Then onto

Sunflowers, or in French, Tournesol.
Turning with the sun.

‘His own ear?’ I hear again. I say really. ‘But why?’
I sigh, wonder where the knife is now.