We turn our shirts inside-out
running until our breath gets lost.
We place our guns side-by-side and laugh,
laugh away ridiculous tension that was not supposed to be there.
Aiming and shooting like men
just to see ammo vanishing in the air.
We play tricks on tedium as if fear never existed,
as if time was playing on our side.
We keep an eye on each other and
photograph our bodies morphing into something different.
One day there won't be verbs.
Quietness will be absolute and beauty will be home.
to Wim de Jonge.
