My friend goes, gives me

a rose from the bush, alas --


still in the bud, picked.

Smoke plumes everywhere,

curling up from the chimneys:


comfort, a hot meal.

Glimmering beauty,

clear and upside down, doubled --


in the little pond.

I like to run with

the hare and hunt with the hounds --


Is that my freedom?

With wide eye shadows,

looking back at all the men:


my perky *******.

For the Heads of Heads

holdings are a game, marbles –


you swop, so boring!

The farewell party

is especially festive --


for those who can stay.

True love! After all,

the love potion was a fraud --


but who believes that?

I'm longing for him,

to fold himself around me --

wrap me up for good.

A poem he wants

to write about me. Do I –


have to pose for it?

Collecting little

bits of happiness: fresh bread --


and filling the bath.

She likes me, so she

does know human nature, or --


is she just stupid?

Progress is the storm

that has risen at the gates --


of Eden's garden.

Ism's promise order.

Is their standard everything --


is for everyone?

Angels come flying

in, hear, here must be heaven --


where the ***** sounds.

I almost started

kissing the lips above me --


but it's a doctor.

A man opens up

in the arms of a woman --


He softens and talks.

When we say goodbye,

my waving hand trembles, but --


father doesn't notice.

It is peaceful here
       but this peace is suspicious
      
       warns the king
       Many inhabitants move
      
       to a palace in the clouds
       of Internet-land or they retreat
      
       to a high tower, sender and receiver
       of their own right, just listen
      
       to the echoes, just listen
       to my disgusting words
      
       Yes, if only someone did listen
       If only someone did listen
      
       unsure
       and loving
      
       back on earth

Croaking frogs at night,

a horse running back and forth --


but you can't see it.

Just a dancing girl,

yet in all boys eyes she is --


eagerly devoured.

The big city blurs

what is dark, with lots of light --


Is heaven like that?

Creation: spirits

blowing bodies out of flesh --


and bottling themselves.

When it is quiet,

a tone rings out clear and light --


with all of its weight.

Maybe I'll have to move
the neighbours are watching
whether I belong to them

and don't go too far
in oddities
Well, a little can be funny

They are also proud themselves
of their profession, their unforgettable
exploits and their indispensability

for the traditional holidays
for everyone, including me
so they count on me

I value their faces
what kind of men they are
fighters with an ax

in their hands, or soldiers
in black clothes, servants
of the dread counselor

In the sitting room

resides the old family --


in stately portraits.

Every seven weeks

the hairdresser cuts and trims --


me three weeks younger.

But why is there war?

Those who return, are injured --


No luck awaits them.

Then, at the abyss,

a flame shoots up from us, licked --


by the total fire.

Without falling I get

ahead of my legs, it is --


quite an exercise!

I then thought I knew

what love is, and I said yes --


yes, I do love you.

Halfway I chatter chatter
teasingly to make you small
and then

I lick you big again, I smear
the pleasure, mixed
with the evening light

the blades on the ceiling
the long curtains, the yellow
of the walls and the two thick

armchairs of green-brown earth
A warm sigh floats over
our sweat of satisfaction

and then, once more
in me, your name, my name
whispering rhythmically

confused, my hair jumbled up
scents in our blood, and then
you can, then I am

Is waiting waiting

if you start having a talk --


about who you are?

The rock bank hangs down

from my feet into the air --


under the water.

Her hand pinches mine,

silent amorous feelings --


expressed in Morse code.

For days I have been

living without him, but hey --


I cannot skip them.

Only now that I come back here
I see it as a paradise, this green land
the flowers, the golden grain
all the riches I thought to be normal

Now, the familiar overwhelms
my new eyes, filling me
with nostalgia even before
I think about leaving

Or will I stay for the rest
of my life, knowing very well
that it is soulhard work
to sleep together

wolf people and sheep people
cow, bear, and snake people
It is heartwork in paradise
for enough straw for everyone

On a swivel chair, I look around
the time capsule of my head
flies and devises stories

of memories and images
that pass, I travel
to my birth country

It does not exist, never
it has existed, it is a soup

of ingredients picked life-
long at my feet, cooked
in the pan of my skull

.....The fresh soup now
.....from my birth country
.... tastes different, really

.....I see it
.....at the plants and the varieties

New Year's Eve: we face

an abyss, dangerously --


we stand hand in hand.

The staff members are the worst
they only do their job half way
spying on the chief
and each other, to blow with
the wind when it turns

They take care
of their career, what is good
for them is called good
for the cause, they hold on
and will spoil everything

Even if it's just hearsay
a good story is indestructible
It steals what you want to have
and you black-wash everyone who contradicts
to appear white yourself

while you are the first to cry
'Stop thief!'
with a passing side note
which amplifies the rumours
by contradicting them

The flag has long frays,

like her hair when she left me --


Her hair in the wind.

I've been here before,

in this bed, and in this love --


room without a view.

Her lips, and then she

runs off, leaving me, my lips --


on the cold hard glass.

People celebrate

the astronauts on the moon --


who'd like to join in.

A streak of perfume

across the floor, I am scared --


by the intense smell.

More and more signposts,

I'm approaching the city --


Unfolding bridges.

The war is a thief

of cries of despair, stealing --


until it's dead still.

Retirement is nice,

grandad shows it in his chair:


never to get up.

To maintain something

as it is, you need to change --


lots of other things.

In the evening we dance
free expression, I am
free and safe in the camp

There is only one lock, one man
who has the key, because
who would want to leave?

Come and take a look
through the fence wires
we don't hide anything

Shirking, sneaky
stuff, a ****, everything
is seen and then

the police quickly take you
to the decision square
that has no facades

There are always people passing
by the houses without outside
walls and without back rooms

seeing if you are doing your best
keep on working and are proper
in the picture and in the toilet