By Jasper Coremans

Through the cracks of a dried up wall

the eye catches the weakening ray of sunlight

while a drunk sleeps on a heap of the yellow leafs of fall

I can only but relate

to the violently pulled out cobblestone

thrown by an unsatisfied streetkid

at the unexpecting shop window of a Louis Vuitton

store that shatters beautifully in the blue light of sirens

I can only feel admiration

for the almost empty glass on an otherwise completely empty terrace

dirty reminiscence of an almost perfect Saturday night

raising my ceramic cup of fermented fluids to those

who fall in love with those alluring faces

withered by the sharp edges of life

Lo and behold

the reveries of a broken heart in May

the provincial road surrounded by brightly-coloutred DIY stores

filled with dangerous but beautiful holes in the tiring concrete

the compass in the hands of a child that lost its mother in the overly lit supermarket

the abandonded bricks that never got to make a home

the already cold limbs that never got to touch another

I can only appreciate

the imperfect roundness of the earth.

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