Amsterdam’s Time

Amsterdam’s Time

The tulips…
back there were trains
metro stations counting the turn of
pages, pages of nonsense in
plain American pyjamas
walking their stereotype little
music
as universal data boot poles
the size of peanuts;
blond fringes tossing away a
northern sputum accent in three
chapters of a squared
red light compartment
elaborated in mixed scents
cut by sexual entrepreneurship
under translation
and Chinese addiction
and gulasch unix fantasies
rendered upon a notion that

tulips
         are beautiful
and life
               is beautiful
and the queen
                      was beautiful
and we’re all like adorable butterflies
            kissing 
flowers for chicks’ smiles

so I say – orange:
a fake notion consumed
behind windows embracing
the freedom burning
or in parks dressed in green
while dogs eat children and children
run bicycles and bicycles 
under constant re-ownership
communicate their freedom to
people
leaving, walking, drinking, thinking
a way of listening into the process
of creation – fixing art’s desideratum
and its ways, the way she crossed her legs 
while explaining the figures – they should be raised
in conformity with markets – meaning 
report my beautiful décolletté, baby
so we’re all blowing and blowing until
no more air is left inside
for burning 
        -   Please get me out of this room,
        I need a salty ocean right now!
      Pizza  Beer Time out?

There was a street where benches awaited
my solitude drenched in
silence.
There were trees tossing their void
shadow of memories
onto the benches

under a low grey sky, rain bashed softly
against sixty illusions ahead of Lisbon time;

still have a huge hour for replaying
tulips.

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho