Dirk van Bastelaere Poems

1)

Those were days of cycling in the mountains. Of climbing, descending.
Of enormous hunger for more and as long as they blocked the peak's
virginity from view in their groaning scent of resin,
...

Bared heart, let yourself be dragged, gasping for breath,
through the mire,
cold fled 'ing on the satin of a cushion
...

When the Swiss evening falls,
backlit behind the billowing white of curtains
the mountain's watching.
...

It's the heart's heart: heart attack,
when matter hangs and crashes, shot
through with black tissue, by which
...

Heart, the market square
is slashed with hail and swamped with floodlight.
In the Café du Commerce
...

Heart, I can consider you in generous terms

of imagery to prove your transferable

nature, your utility, Generator,
...

Day has come. But who makes that
True? Not the woman with her hand
Beside a light switch. Also in the hall,
Not the red sweater around a body.
...

Where I am a flower meadow
is missing, even though I'm standing in
a parched flower meadow
with hair blossoming like an orchard
...