EPIGRAM Poem by Frank Koenegracht

mama you've b'n on my mind
Bob Dylan



We are going, mother
and if it snows we are still going
and if it doesn't snow we're going too
we are going whatever happens.
The darkness is low, the light is long
and the balconies sometimes fly off
the houses even without a war:
but we are going, that is certain,
because he is dead, as dead as an ant
on a stair-carpet and that is why
we have become slow, as slow as
ill-fed dogs.
But our snow crystal collection is extraordinary.