Laws are straight and right,

something crooked that is bent --


That is what trade is.

Half awake I am

floating in my consciousness --


and in my body.

I live, I endure

the sharp sounds, I kiss the wounds --


then I cover them.

The world is asleep,

lightly breathed upon and kissed --


by the rising sun.

Every drop its own

pathway, that's how water makes --


its way to the sea.

Don't stay there alone,

just come out and show yourself --


show all your colours.

Talking to a friend

about your loved one is the --


most intimate thing.

The more you want me,

the more you'll see me, even --


when I am not there.

She is taking care,

he keeps kissing it away --


with his laziness.

Is thinking ahead

..a Pleasure Dome
..in which you know that
..he will take a shower and then
..you know by the smell of his musk
..what awaits you?

....the art of stumbling in such a way
....that a competitor comes to your aid
....and moving along with your apparent fall
....is crushed by an inconspicuous push
....after which you whine
....about his undeserved end?

......depleting the earth
......by colonizing mineral
......resources and that everyone
......puts together a survival kit
......for all conceivable disasters?

........the Dark Palace of the question
........of how you want to die, not now
........but later with you or rather
........alone with a black pill
........against unbearable suffering
........or a hopeless existence?

Or is it too tiring?

Prometheus thinks ahead.
I too work according to plan.
I think:

I consider the possibilities.
I am critical of my own plans.
I have patience in executing a plan.

What is love now, since

you're gone and I am dying --


in how it was then?

It is best to write

with a fountain pen, with ink --


as warm as your blood.

Our very first kiss:

my heart was a little bird --


trembling in its nest.

I love to dance and

fall in love, even if you'll --


fly away from me.

We dance and we stamp

our tears into the plank floor --


crying together.

Am I not alone,

is there up there on the roof --


a guardian angel?

I play the gora,

mother is silent, she sees --


that I don't hear her.

He sings about me,

about my desperation --


Everyone hears it.

We're back in his house,

and my shoes are on the shelf --


And his shoes are not.

Condolences can

be a battle: whose loss, whose --


sorrow is greater?

Why does it happen,

why does my heart open out --


to love, constantly?

I do not know why,

but just out of gratitude --


I am moved to tears.

Just live like a bus

driver, all the diversions --


then become the route.

Behind the walls there's

a party, and the river --


still remains frozen.

Mountains around me,

silence, the space, and the wind --


that I can be here.

The moon reflected,

flowers floating in the wind:


such are human lives.

Well, when would one be

too old to do that, kissing --


under a shelter?

Urban renewal,

but the footway is the same --


as when I played there.

As we know, people

like to play, preferably --


with favourite thoughts.

The car's answer is:

the meaning of all life comes --


down to 42.

Now that Mum and Dad

are so quiet, I observe --


them extra closely.

Her pouty mouth clear-

ly shows me that she likes to --


**** on lollipops.

The talking falters,

that's why I burn poplar wood --


that always crackles.

I look at her so

closely that I can always --


visualise her.

Relax, says a voice,

and menacingly: one two --


she starts to count down.

What is happening

is overexposed, only --


the core can be seen.

I'm restless: the moon

stands still while it is moving --


imperturbably.

The sky is yellow

and the deep blue sea turns black --


Light in the houses.

Fragments and flashes,

at the moment we see them --


they are memories.

The circus, cancan,

from times we know so well from --


movies. Black and white.

The wash turns and hums
It sounds content
No birds, quiet
as in a dream

You got up early, I know
how you unfold a shirt
pull it over and enjoy
the cool fabric

...I don't feel like
...getting dressed yet, wait
...at the kitchen counter

...until the tea is brewed
...then I fold your clothes
...very precisely and lay them
...in the closet. What shall I

...cook for you tonight
...and what shall I wear?
...First something warm
...to do the grocery shopping

Love mirrors itself

to and fro, ever growing-


on its hidden force.

Everything changes.

However, the ocean is --


still the ocean.

None of the protests

in the big cities are heard --


in the countryside.

In ashen wisps clouds

are moving across the sky --


Far away: the moon.

Phone call: pieces of

sentences alternately --


pasted together.

I think more
with feelings
than with thoughts of you

Your silent closeness
without contact
my desire

to be with you unfolds
in my soul and floats
around me with happiness

I want to experience everything
with you, but swimming with dolphins
and the Northern Lights in the south

are not as special to me
as sleeping together, eating, watching
and expressing what is touching us

Loving couples kiss

whispering in the chambers --


of the swaying grass.

Darkness of the night,

the genuine veil of love --


drawn over everything.