a dim sum chronicle

I’ll ​give ​you ​two ​crooked ​fingers ​for ​breakfast

everything ​feels ​so ​transparent ​now

Im ​23

had ​a ​blast

thanks ​for ​watching

this ​should ​have ​been ​a

different ​poem ​of ​some ​sorts

but ​sorting ​out ​my ​failures

is ​obsession ​grown ​to ​its ​full ​size

bed ​wrestle ​me ​bitch, ​both ​ways

fuck ​with ​my ​head ​the ​way ​only ​I​ ​can

lines ​caress ​a ​lifeless ​form

souring ​my ​absent ​sense ​of ​morality

I’m ​a ​bad ​friend, ​I’m ​a ​bad ​lover, ​I’m ​a ​bad ​son ​and ​a ​worse ​brother

I’ll ​give ​myself ​two ​crooked ​fingers ​for ​breakfast

like ​every ​day ​I ​can ​see ​what ​will ​happen ​eventually

stalin ​had ​a ​moustache ​to ​cover ​up

the ​bad ​relationship ​with ​that ​suicidal ​wife ​of ​his

I ​don’t ​shave ​regularly ​because ​of ​similar ​reasons

I’m ​all ​about ​instant ​gratification

when ​I ​mention ​that ​girl ​who ​hit ​you ​the ​other ​day

I ​wanna ​fall ​in ​love ​with ​her

a ​million ​times ​over

and ​probably ​forget ​her ​the ​day ​after

damn ​Im ​at ​the ​wrong ​side ​of ​the ​bottle ​again

man, ​I ​feel ​like ​I’m ​post-everything

I ​feel ​like ​I ​turned ​out ​to ​be ​more ​than ​you’ve ​ever ​dreamed ​of

only ​in ​a ​different ​field

and ​not ​catholic

and ​not ​married

and ​I ​know ​I ​don’t ​have ​a ​degree ​yet

and ​I ​didn’t ​get ​published ​at ​21

though ​am ​still ​looking ​at ​the ​dawn ​of ​that ​century

one ​gives ​me ​liquor ​on ​blue ​days

I ​just ​have ​to ​dive ​in

but ​I ​saw ​the

best ​minds ​of ​that ​generation ​destroyed ​by ​madness

I ​am ​one ​of ​those ​minds, ​still ​not ​the ​most ​important ​one

still ​not ​blasted ​into ​oblivion

my ​biggest ​fear ​is ​to ​not ​love ​decently

my ​biggest ​fear ​is ​to ​not ​love ​you

but ​I ​can’t ​because ​of ​distance ​and ​I ​can’t ​because ​the ​oceans ​too ​wide ​to ​swim

so ​I ​shout ​a ​big ​barbaric ​yob

that ​echoes ​throughout ​my ​eternity

there ​ain’t ​no ​ardent ​glory ​for ​the ​wicked ​there ​ain’t ​no ​ardent ​glory ​for ​the

wicked ​there ​ain’t ​no ​ardent ​glory ​for ​the ​wicked ​there ​ain’t ​no ​ardent ​glory ​for

girl ​I ​can’t ​begin ​to ​describe

just ​shake ​me ​like ​a ​polaroid ​picture

(it ​fades ​when ​you ​do ​that, ​apparently ​the

company ​made ​that ​statement ​after ​Outkast ​released ​Hey ​Ya)

this ​might ​be ​my ​farewell ​to ​poetry

my ​roommate ​already ​bid ​his ​he ​just ​started ​working

for ​a ​major ​publishing ​company

I ​love ​you ​man, ​so ​proud ​but

that’s ​not ​me ​I ​also ​act ​like ​a ​waster ​but ​that’s ​not ​me

I ​sometimes ​wanna ​feature ​in ​a ​film ​about ​my ​acquaintances ​and ​lie ​my ​way ​out

of ​actually ​appearing

I ​sometimes ​wanna ​kiss ​people ​on ​a ​non-​existent ​Belgian ​baseball ​field

I ​sometimes ​wanna ​smoke ​spliffs ​but ​I ​don’t ​and ​still ​do

peer ​pressure ​should ​be ​a ​recognised ​religion

I ​really ​wanna ​kiss ​you

and ​tell ​you ​everything’s ​gonna ​be ​alright

in ​the ​end ​but ​I ​don’t ​know ​who ​to ​direct ​it ​to

and ​I ​don’t ​know ​if ​you ​feel ​like ​I ​feel ​so

wake ​up ​at ​8am

dress ​yourself

have ​a ​nice ​breakfast

go ​to ​school, ​uni, ​work

I ​will ​probably ​do ​the ​same


Sander Dierick is al veel te lang bezig met poëzie. Als hij niet schrijft, militeert hij als marxist en schrijft artikels voor De Linkse Socialist, het maandblad van de Links Socialistische Partij.

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