Kleptomaan plagiaat

De nacht lonkt met lange kleptomane vingers

mijn slapeloosheid vist me op

in het uur van de wolf

zal ik weer heersen

tot de dageraad me inhaalt met een vrolijk fluitend lied 

Zacht hunker ik naar haar bedkamerstem met de bijpassende ogen

haar kleedje glijdt van haar af

en onthult al de verrukkelijkheden

waarvan ik zo lang verstoken bleef.

plechtig voel ik haar betasten

van kop tot teen

over linkerdij tot rechterborst

met vingers gretig van een hongersnood

die heerste in Gomorra.

De sfinx zit gebeeldhouwd op zijn paarlmoeren troon

met een kroon van smaragden,

ingelegd met het fijnste goud en bloeddiamanten,

haar donkere huid verraadt geen blos,

ik spaar mijn roede niet, 

vertoont een negerinnenkont ook strepen en bijtsporen?

Massaal patrimonium

van okeren afwezigheid,

ik verbloem de doden

en spreek met plagiërende stem:

Oscar Wilde, John Milton,

ik ben uitgepraat,

gelieve het van mij over te nemen

terwijl ik de slapeloosheid voorbereid,

in mijn dromen zie ik sterren

van Angelsaksische origine,

de Picten en de Schotten zijn verdreven,

richt tot mij uw Cockney stem:

OFT have we trod the vales of Castaly
And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown
From antique reeds to common folk unknown:
And often launched our bark upon that sea
Which the nine Muses hold in empery,
And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,
Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home
Till we had freighted well our argosy.
Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,
Sordello's passion, and the honied line
Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine
Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,
The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,
And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies. 

Oscar Wilde

Another On The Same

Here lieth one who did most truly prove,

That he could never die while he could move,

So hung his destiny never to rot
While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot,
Made of sphear-metal, never to decay
Untill his revolution was at stay.
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time:
And like an Engin mov'd with wheel and waight,
His principles being ceast, he ended strait.
Rest that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm
Too long vacation hastned on his term.
Meerly to drive the time away he sickn'd,
Fainted, and died, nor would with Ale be quickn'd;
Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd,
If I may not carry, sure Ile ne're be fetch'd,
But vow though the cross Doctors all stood hearers,
For one Carrier put down to make six bearers.
Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right,
He di'd for heavines that his Cart went light,
His leasure told him that his time was com,
And lack of load, made his life burdensom
That even to his last breath (ther be that say't)
As he were prest to death, he cry'd more waight;
But had his doings lasted as they were,
He had bin an immortall Carrier.
Obedient to the Moon he spent his date
In cours reciprocal, and had his fate
Linkt to the mutual flowing of the Seas,
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase:
His Letters are deliver'd all and gon,
Onely remains this superscription. 

John Milton