Drafting Compass is a poem, and a self-published booklet about the sun, blood and insanity, written during the warm summer days in Berlin in 2013, and after getting a little too much sun struck by Menno Wigman ‘s Zomers stinken alle Steden.
~
The sun is shining and I am jamming a drafting compass in my neck. / Water bursts from a fire hydrant. / while children run through the haze.
I am turning insane, / from the blue legs of old men. / Veins that vanish in pulled up socks. / Rotten fruit, / tits in bras. / Swollen dick. / Armpits growing weed. / Red meat. / Buzzing flies.
Beer caps / are pushed down / into the soft asphalt / and wait for rust. / Yes. A drafting compass in my neck./ Water runs from a tap, / in these medieval streets, / somewhere, in this sun-beaten town around the Mediterranean shores. / I will / wash the dust from my hands. / Swirl down gutters and alleyways, / across cobblestones and manholes, / grace market-squares, brush boulevards, / until I arrive at the sea / and kiss / the waves goodbye.
(Booklet out of print)
