Time is fluid, here

on the plane, we are floating --


in moments of now.

I lick everything

and I still can't make a choice --


what I feel like now.

Being in your arms,

I haven't any doubt, I feel --


that I belong there.

What is new is old,

because it does remember --


what has been before.

Since I'm old enough

to understand adult jokes --


they're disappointing.

Death penalty: could

be, but it's risky to train--


executioners.

In the evening we

rest and cautiously express --


our sincere feelings.

Everything could be,

tonight, and it cannot be --


It's so sweltering!

A person must learn,

there are no suns anywhere --


that don't cast shadows.

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

I am sick, foggy

and incapable I am --


slurping sips of soup.

My clothes are heavy, pack animals
with bags full of worries, I have them
washed when I sleep, dried
in the light of the moon, breathe

Water ripples in the dark
of the gorge between the mountains
here and there fireflies
wanting to ***, they dance

in front of me to the bay
the water is still warm
like when I was a child
with mama in the bath

her soft body
the sweet, lukewarm air
that I still can smell
in the light of the moon

I spread my arms and legs
like a peacock
and draw a circle around me
only my body is still here

Do you have to be

social to address anti-


social people? Well?

Everything changes

and suffers from it, I too --


am living that way.

For a long minute

great gratitude trickles down --


Heavenly caress.

This palace of mirrors looks quite
common because it refracts everything

into googol beings and objects and even
more tissues, and so on, and so on

No one can see the whole
Only with closed eyes

it is possible to think a whole
out of loose people and see

that they do not exist separately
but live and move in all

mirror pieces, we too -
only blindly I can see

if I dare, that I can
only care well for myself by

Downstream, three buckets

of mayonnaise are sailing --


along with our boat.

No one's listening,

so there is no censorship --


of the protesters.

I fantasize how

people are, not accepting --


that they're so boring!

Am I elitist

if football is new to you --


and I explain it?

As serfs of ourselves

we all do long to live free --


for one another.

The famous writer

is awfully shy, no one --


attends to his clothes.

The oldest sons count
as patriarchs from Adam
Seth and Enos to Methuselah

Cain is a different story
from a time when there were more people
more women to get married

It is the story of the sacrifice
that was rejected
as if God did not exist

so that Cain lost his faith
and mourned for that
and God was sorry

so He forbade to **** him
and other unbelievers
you shall not **** a human being

Moses chiseled in two stones
which he smashed immediately
to teach the people a lesson

with the seething ******
of 3000 men, the blood sticks
to the priests forever

but they had every right
because God wanted
to do it Himself

Two teenage girls sit-

ting opposite each other --


form a closed circle.

For their family,

dead people are the same size –


as in their lifetime.

Here are people living
in wet boxes
and I don't cry
I am not campaigning
for an allocation in the budget

I feel alone
just like the others
in their houses and clean clothes
who already have so much to do
and who walk by embarrassed

with a friendly greeting
that cuts off a conversation
before it can begin
and who forget this quickly
before it becomes a problem

Sometimes we give money
What else can you do
but ponder your sin-
ful needs and spend
what you have got after that

My heart skips a beat,

once a flash and forever –


we kiss each other.

I am still alive,

everything has changed now, all --


at once. Your world too?

Whoever wakes up

here, will wake the butterflies --


sleeping on his cheek.

Little waterfalls

along my long strides, hear this --


music fantasy.

I could not stay, without an escort
we traveled under the seven heavens
and only later did I realize that
up there are the souls

of Adam – expelled just like us
John and Jesus – the messengers
Joseph – rejected by his family
and Enoch – the living teacher

Aaron – still loved
Moses – the patient
in the desert of unbelief
and Abraham – the first to surrender

With borrowed eyes I see
under the heavenly light the radiant
new Jerusalem, the city
that we are going to build here

At night, the houses

with their windows are yawning --


at me everywhere.

People keep thinking,

about their feelings, even --


about their thinking.

My room: a waste bin,

chair, chamber ***, and myself --


tossing in my bed.

She is unswerving,

imperious: a fortress --


may not move, never.

I'm ashamed, I eat

brownie crumbs, in the movie --


I've **** in my mouth.

At the junk dealer

I write, of course, life stories --


of the furniture.

This music is so

nice that I play it even --


better than I can!

I am where I am
and want to be
I drink my mother
and breathe my father
I root in my mother
and grow in my father

I'm in the prime of
the best time of
my life, the spring of
my life, where I am
where the grass is greener
and where I want to stay

At night the sky is dark
when the moon is black
by day the sun often shines
behind the clouds
when it rains I get wet
and then I dry again

So everything stays the same
repeated over and over and
within that security I can change
almost unnoticed
while I am who I am
and who I want to be

It is a long wait,

I pull buttons off my shirt –


now I have to sew.

My heart drinks the smells

of the lilac tree, I'm drunk –


of li-lilac wine.

I'm a kind of half-

human, there are so many --


others I do need.

On the times they had

a quarrel, she lectured him --


from his own poems.

It's unreal, the world

of the screens, you live in it --


like Don Quixote.

Sleeper ****, sheep ****
on the flats, not much happens

Gray on gray the slow breath
of night and day, shreds

of heartbeatless noise and waves
of screaming seagulls, silver-

glare on the sea
the slime trail of a snail

Nowhere blood, just some feathers
shells of past life

and silent sighs from the universe
Without a **** I would disappear

to nowhere, oh how I ache
for you

The world does exist,

finally I know for sure:


I am dying there.

The red sun burns in

the windows of the city:


everything is lost.

Afterwards it is

only vague what it was like:


a passion, a pain.

The cold lies thick
over the world like dust
as if no one has been
there for a long time

and I have been
forgotten or overlooked
left behind as if I couldn't
be taken with them

No one with whom I can
share what I feel, the cold
since you've been gone, the cold
since I've been home alone

No one
to tell that
I have lost you
my dear darling

All alone
No one
who sees, who knows
that I miss you

Having a stare-down,

as if the other is wrong --


sitting on your seat.