Are there aliens

inside the clouds? Who is there --


rummaging about?

I sing, cautiously,

just to myself, still without --


anyone hearing.

Seven bridges, that

is an odd number, so how --


do I set a route?

Is it easier

to acquire knowledge than to --


do away with it?

To my arms rushes

the happiness of her eyes --


straight into my heart.

I chose the wrong cake,

and then it started: the Great --


Cardamom Quarrel.

All the little shutters opened up
feeling what is going on
in the twilight
within me

not fantasizing
feeling what is going on
outside, over there, a farewell
their arms around each other

and all the way long
my legs are tired
from the runner who smiles
at the happy woman

tears in my eyes
over the baby in her pram
it is getting dark
my window a mirror

in which my preliminary self
asks for love
for my marriage
under construction

and for my body
oh mirror image
I love you
I do what I can

In the evening we

rest and cautiously express --


our sincere feelings.

Under the night filter
I lie awake
in hibernation

the blossoms on my skin
dusky grey, luckily
I think that, still can think

something, that's all
and the itching continues
to plague me in my head

where I can't reach it
I can only wait
until it is dissolved

and I feel again
like having cake, luckily
I can bake it myself

when I have the energy
and my thoughts
find the words again

While I am musing

the sun hesitates to rise --


and it's getting dark.

The storm growls and howls

through splits in the hollow wall --


like a house *****.

Souls are colourless,

black and white the setups that --


separate people.

The trees in winter:

no pigeons, no bullfinches --


the nests breaking down.

What we humans are

is nothing, what we desire --


is all that matters.

The dinner table

is stylishly set, spotless --


Sorry, except me.

A violinist

lightly strokes the sheep gut with --


tightly stretched horsehair.

She doesn't recognise

what I feel: 'Now try to find --


your deeper feeling!'

The sentimental

people chat to explore their --


growing consciousness.

As a child I felt:

there is a secret in me --


big, for the whole world.

Suddenly I know

the secret hidden in me --


and I speak it out.

If only you could

take hold of the world and shake --


the whole into place...

Ah, I would like to

educate my enemies --


And my friends as well.

Politicians drift,

because The Majority --


doesn't know what they want.

Ambition is: not

valuing yourself enough --


It is a defect.

In between I look

into the garden, hoping --


we'll be silent now.

Tell me, what do they

know, the nationalists,


of their own country?

Thirty-six years, my

youth is only just starting --


yeah, to release me!

P and I became

friends when my companion fell --


into a ravine.

My photos of her

presence: the pile of dishes,


the untidy bed.

The floor is ceiling:

you see a metal flower --


spinning beneath you!

I want to see you,

that's it, you really don't have --


to be sociable.

My writing creates

order, but I also see --


more and more chaos.

Slow cloud formations

drift darkly within themselves --


humming a little.

Over the wide fields

of collected memories --


the past strides about.

The pond is chilly,

the wind high up in the pines --


brings autumn again.

Tangled in all the

things I think about, I lose --


more and more contacts.

Love is a tempest

that first throws us off course and --


then plays with our minds.

Can it comfort me,

that I am in love with him --


who holds me captive?

With a broad chest
a ******* tongue
beautiful feathers, a hot breath
and a forked tongue
they live on our skin

We little ***** rats in the eyes
of the screaming crowd
that rattles the fences
in the zoo, the cages
in which we are trapped

The gorillas who clear the way
the hyena who says she is helping
the peacock who dresses our hair
the dragon for our image and
the hissing of the tour manager

Don't step on their tails
and don't feed them, please
Just let their airs
explode, no more ground
beneath their feet

People expect peace

from her, which confuses her --


so she has no peace.

She always looks me

up to talk to me, because --


I know her, her life.

Take it or leave it,

she demands. He is in love --


and takes it.. for love.

The visitors help

her search, can anyone find --


her as she once was?

So, what is my life:

my existence, being there --


plus my history.

I work in the white palace
Input, output, no ripple
in my body, my mind
remains calm, whatever I do

In between I experience the silence
in the red palace rooms
that I can always enter
wherever I am

There I open my skull
into a cup and I experience
myself, let love flow
to what occupies me

There I also look at the lives
of my loved ones, of strangers
and of the people I meet
I embrace them with many arms

of tenderness

Freedom is being

able.. to choose for others,


to suffer yourself.

Hoping for a miracle
that I don't believe in
an extension, being able

to do what ordinary people do
on ordinary days, eat
and not be sad

Getting stronger, restoring
myself, no longer needing
the names of my diseases

Only my nose is healthy
puts me in my own stink
smells where it's going

Pigeons coo more plaintively
cawing jackdaws scratch in me
Missy turns around me

The city is full of life
rushing past the ruins
which still know who they were

Lying in my bed,

I saw a house being build --


for after my life.

He's gone, I linger

about in our shared past where --


he is still with me.

Cautiously I take

my very first steps, my eyes --


feeling out the light.