Paul Bogaert Poems

One takes a quantity of details
as if preparing for an operation.
At once the slaves of eloquence rivet themselves
together. A shiver makes ready.
...

It's the jerky wheeze from the one who pants
makes him/her pant like that. The lower lip
curls to what a cerebral lobe
full of echoes in captivity dictates.
...

One stands at a lock
that guarantees mustiness.
Then one instinctively finds out the trick:
one tightens certain muscles, betrays
...

An eight-armed carrier holder stretched so tight
that due to hooks and tension
it is hazardous to bring your eyes closer
than you need to see it: this is the image
...

What you said was undiluted.
And it proved effective too:
I can't see a thing. My head is clean
now and white. It's done.
...

Proceeding to the letter
and in the spirit of the scheduled starting time
he checks the buoys and the temperature
and shyly he traverses the zones.
...

[…]
The mother's heart has ears that never sleep!
I mean to say
the mother's heart that is made
of shammy leather and trampoline material.
...

- I hear that you have stabilized.
It's me, no, that's not something
you'd eat or utter,
too crude, I understand that,
...

In our country we deal with pent up pain
by assuming that everyone can
paint, hate, break in, murder and deal with pain.
...

He throws her on the bed, it has to be done,
the polo neck must come off,
the rest as well, a rip doesn't matter, he must quickly
lie with his skin
...