Written in the Train Station in Köln

it is between my teeth for

despising

what’s between those pidgeon

          -teeth except for empty

space or perhaps empty sex.

what tongue of Belgium to

forme to dime into

i would that i from

Belgium

          with their

                   waffles with their

                             apple lift

such a hand between legs and

McDonalds

          nein, such a beautiful hand

that feeds us.

such a 10 euro eye-opener

my what a tall 800 year old place of benediction

you have

painful to feet and to bumblebees.

the priests are waiting at platform 6

with their little boys

IC 621

i see your underwear is endorsed

by a major corporation   

what herb!

          what mighty flowering plant

is being burned in a playground

to big and two dangerous for

children?

these mysterious cognates between

between Flemish and German

play like a defacto

          roof over the hand that feeds me.

what formal tongue-form to climb into?

what sleeping bag can scream

with little kisses that

I am not a tourist

I am not whining for orange juice.

such beer-stained kisses

with their chocolate-like purity.

          it was that smell that could reach us

 even there that

she was Belgian and she was handing us

beer-stained chocolate kisses during

blood-stained catholic masses+

holding little boys by the hand and

showing them the Art Deco object

of veneration that couldn’t

possibly/have come from before the

last century.