and now and then the saturated sound
of ships and trucks passing without her.
It grows dark in my tent on the Rhine,
where everything is drying to be saved:
Thyssenhaus, Königsallee, Krimhilde,
but even more the nameless hitchhiker,
suddenly a heavily painted woman hunting
for gold and revenge in this wakeful night.
In excessive rains of regression, she floods
all my banks again, drowning me
in a score of lust. Sucking her mark.
Poem Dusseldorf
Albert Hagenaars
