[your flesh is ageing] Poem by Bart Meuleman

your flesh is ageing, how can I go on with you?
excrement is what you are, completely. it's quite costly.
but look, look at your hands, you're not bleeding anymore, while you were
once a pond.
you should let me be, I have a headache - that endless lighting never mind
what godforsaken hour of the day.
you're really leaving. if I say now surroundings will vanish, quite gently,
then your likeness. press once more on the fleshy switch.

Translated by Willem Groenewegen