CHORUS OF LAUGHTER Poem by Peter Verhelst

We build an abyss

with averted faces, quietly at first,
then as rhythmically as clapping, finally open-mouthed - we hold
our bellies tight and bend double, someone's already
rolling off the stage, while the audience keeps the beat,
arms in the air, a sea of lighter flames - it's been a long time

since we could let ourselves go so completely forgetting everything
around us, so good to do this together - the laughter turns
to crying that will never end

and in that very instant we stop.

But what is drawn into that silence
out of eyes and out of the floor, ceiling and walls,

warm, sticky, gushing, unstaunchable,

ancient, swirling, a deep orange-red,

out of armpits, noses, pores, genitals, the corners of eyes,

rustling, rippling, whispering,

what of ours
is dripping from us

into the hot, wet, fleshy, slippery funnel of that abyss?