Not living for later
but together, social
and respected

The king loathes it
He takes palaces and farmsteads
His taxation breaks

the compliance, cold
causes hunger
Threat of war

Propaganda points the way:
there is a saviour, a Father
of the Nation, he protects

the refugees from Antwerp
and the trade, he will
drive out tyranny

that beheads dukes and puts
believers at the stake, that makes
the country pay for the oppression

My icy looks
your icy soul
Inhale and exhale
Inhale and exhale
In - oh, ****
The windmills laugh at me
two at once
The house, the sunshine, the harsh wind
Limited space
horses get lined up
then they get shot.
Eyes meet and hearts part
dark-haired and street smart
"You look at me like I died ten years ago"
you tell me, your voice suave and low
And I thought
****, that was poetic.

Mustard sweaters in the Mauritshuis,
     scattered ashes at the foot of our bed.
We run, run round in circles,
     till the stars drop out of their cat's cradles and into our laps.
Empty paintings and glasses frames,
     dozing atop anarchist literature in the back alleys
of some distant treasure island.