For hours they're chasing

each other across the plains:


thundery showers.

You did, you said: you.

As if I just have to be --


obliging to you.

Time can't be measured

in silence, nor can the beat --


be calibrated.

The mouths are open,

wide, as if they are screaming:


the leaf ***** in air.

The geese: satisfied,

lying back in the meadow –


dotted with daisies.

We are beautiful

and special, all of us, it's --


just ordinary.

Poverty teaches

in supermarkets: you must


kneel -- to the cheapest.

In the empty hall,

standing next to her suitcase --


mum waits, and she cries.

Who is a brain boss?

Who balances his thinkles --


and does really know?

Being there, content,

nobody's burden, that's it –


Saints do live that way.

From the river, forest everywhere
with yellow knights, turkey tails
and white-bearded trees

Sometimes there is a silence
and I hear the treecreeper
here and there a stone

which is described
on the map of this area
a map that is not a map

but a summary
of intersections, bridges
and solitary trees

Tonight I will rest
in an easy chair
that important invention

after the folding chair, the tilting chair
the swivel chair and the wheelchair
luckily I'm whole inside

not shaken in a coach
with suspension
fit for a rest day

for considerations
about my journey and the world
accepts the outcome

In love, every time
again, instantly
defenceless

from you, your face
whoever you are
whatever you see

not me
because then I wouldn't have time
to think this, wondering

how the mirror works
and what you see
when you see me

We don't need words
I could be deaf
and just as touched

open up with love
to see you
live, powerful

in better and worse

Censorship: fancy

is dangerous, so don't write --


about *******.

My light will go out,

it couldn't get any darker --


Here I am. Take me.

Quiet as a child

in his mother's arms, quite so --


even is my soul.

I paid it, I swept

it away and forgot it --


for today's new day!

Don't go to sleep, you

long to love, dare to do it --


and don't go to sleep!

'You come with me?' Woof

'You like something to eat?' Woof


'Come on my lap!' Woof

I get up and feel

that weather again, the sun --


on those Saturdays!

The world is asking:

Love your neighbour as yourself –


It is the answer.

Over there: the Ocean,

inside me another one --


Without Lighthouses.

The door slams the light

closed, my eyes slowly begin --


to see in silence.

There's a thin sea drifting
above the sea, I float
everywhere, infinitely
between ancestors
and unborn

The sea kisses and plays
pulls me under water
up in high foams
which splash apart into
my new rainbow wisps

over the sea, from the sea
the bearing sea
engulfing sea
evaporating sea

making depths out
of valleys, creative
darkness, the sea
the full empty sea

Enough is enough
We tie a bow around the old
year and share wishes

"don't think too much
of days to come
because your feet will always stand in the present"

happy to be
with our neighbours
at home where we live

nothing special
everything just
good

enough

We have competed

a lot over our fathers –


which of them was worse.

Goats bleat on the roofs,

people wade to the market --


buses blow the horn.

Mama is angry, she's letting me
I just should
be big enough
Her mummy time is over

since the divorce
No new beginning yet
I just should
be kind to her

indulge her and help her
until it's getting better
I just should
not mind the voices

that spit at me
with swear words
and cover my thoughts
I just should

listen to her and see
how I get rid of it
Is there anyone
who is not deaf to me?

I just should fix it myself
and if I can do that, mama
you can succeed as well
in being my mama again

True Love! Be happy

when you find it, be happy --


you're looking for it.

I'm kissing the shells

of her eyes, the little hairs --


prickle: be careful!

Do I prefer to

remember, forget, forgive --


or be forgiven?

Like dust particles,

that's how our souls are dancing --


Can you see it now?

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

Not using the bike

is Zen: wishing to arrive --


where you always are.

Not our statements are

personal, but everything --


that happens to us.

It is the silence

that I notice all night long --


as if I'm dreaming.

There's the nagging pain

of violence, and worse, of --


chatting about it.

The wind blows, nothing

happens, maybe unless you --


look to see something.

Always build a tower
solid and in the middle
make a daily round

along the outposts, you learn
from that, also from the wind
and the farmers, sit down

with the children playing
and listen to what they repeat
from their parents and the neighbours

Occasionally beat the drums
but never dig holes
for the dead of tomorrow

plant flowers every season
around the squares and the cities
as a welcome to the enemy

in your suspicion, and pay attention
because the better you look
the more you see

I feel no worship,

no love or amorousness --


but a blissful fear.

That you are smarter

than the facts, you have learned with --


conspiracy thoughts.

We shout many views,

are seldom examining --


our very standpoints.

This black hole in time,

the accident, will be filled --


with my memories.

Writers do not write

to live, they write in the hope --


of learning to die.

Waiting is living

half, putting deeds off, looking --


in front of oneself.

His beautiful voice!

Could he perhaps be gargling --


honey every day?

Man is a wild animal
in a herd, a group
that organizes
to be tamed

but it's not easy
to get the systems right
There are unexpected effects
or oppressive requirements

No one is responsible
Deposing leaders, killing
dictators makes no difference
The people tolerate the successor

Help is needed
From the outside, but
the borders are deadly
to humanity

So I must appreciate little
things, a glance
the clouds, fresh bread once
and dream what is forbidden

We are living in a poor country
since we took it back
and whoever stays must pay

in kind, we take it
very personally, man by man
with violence, we subject

the last woman to our right
to penetrate her like she
and the other foreigners

have, for six generations
penetrated our lives, that's how
we ****** our daggers of hate

in her, she is defenseless
her dogs stay still
in their blood, she too has

to resign herself to her fate
the disgrace of life
and the grace of death

I'm not moving straight,

I am a piece of something --


bigger that rotates.

I finished eating,

do I wish to remember –


the delicious taste?

The sun takes a stand

in the middle of the street --


breathing burning hot.