When she stands at the stove she
wears her sleeves rolled up
and eyes that look may see
the tiny faded numbers

Her grey hair braided
and pinned-up
her skin just slightly wrinkled

In slumbers I have seen it all again
in fragments

Her eyes do never rest upon
those numbers
anymore

They've grown into her life as much
as daughter, son, and second daughter have.

*Sometimes, at night, I feel cold iron
touch my arms and legs
I don't know why

Don't be so shy, love

I wonder why
you never slapped me
and never slept with me

You see:
I need to know you
inside out

Say it aloud:
*I'll stay with you.

how come i have cold feet like that
lie in my bed
and freeze and freeze
and freeze?

how come, now that i realize, that you
don't lie here next to me?

i guess you've climbed up
on the roof
to find a final proof of how the world goes round.

This is the infant biting
a juicy lemon slice for the first time
life and all
its scandalous craziness rushing
into a hilarious expression
that seems to say,
this is life I'll
buy it

My dad told me
someone from Australia
called

hell I hold this grudge for
so long
so long

Now I only love you
and tie your shoes and walk you
home.

From behind your head something
makes you feel like
a young child
afraid
and know not
what it is

From inside yourself
center
center

Still
a way to go
to where and how long you
simply cannot know it

Going to
therapy
taking pills talking
talking to people
sleeping
enough
rough thoughts
in my head

Breast heavy
flow interrupted
step by
step
got it?

I can't write.
My fingers, thin, hoover above the keybord, a yellow bug irritating me when it collides with the light bulb
and my eyes, irritated as they are, and the tv in the background because it always is because I am not looking -

thus the situation being, and me in the middle of it, and no other noise except tv, bug, typing and - eventually, my own blood rushing-

and nothing comes from nothing, or so they say, and still no great lines on the page.

I will have to revise this and see what can I change, for next time.
The bug is gone.

Because the fish
in the sea
never forbade themselves
to be aware of the water

Because the girl
in this world
always had eyes
for the bees and the leaves
of grass
and the air

A long calm
Wave rolls
Over
And reflects a bit of
Light
I think we're
Getting there

All the words kept
inside for the sake of it for fear of not being
perfect enough of not fitting
the situation now they come
come up
up
up
blobbing like hot water in that volcano lake
they shoot out
like eager spring flowers
only harder
They gather only for split seconds before
they can really make sense they
drown
in that volcano lake but look
there's a whole lot of them coming out

In the rough wind they were playing,
Always, and swaying like trees,
Knowing the cool breeze
That blew.

One day in September
They forgot to remember
How this breeze sometimes turns
To a storm.

Whirling around
They then saw their own faces
Celebrating the ******
Which embraces
Those who know not what’s real –
And what isn’t.

The impact of your golden boots on the cobble stone is heavy,
getting more decisive with every step of the path, forward.
Your deep-red silk cloak sways in the wind
and covers your shoulders and back;
you are on the way, and it is good.

Imagine a king who sets one foot in front of the other, not yet
a hundred percent convinced
that he is going to like his job, this work.
A king who, nevertheless, takes it, because it is his place
and because it is time.
Imagine a king walking with heavy step so as to be heard;
a king whose first command is one pronounced with utter clarity - because it is necessary.
Imagine a king emerging,
leaving all insecurities behind - because it is time.

Imagine this king, secretly pressing - under his red cloak -
his right hand on a spot a bit above his pounding heart,
bracing himself.
For all this is new.

Imagine a king who is human, and knows it.

"I never writ before my spirit moved", says the poet to herself,
lays down shield and sword
and switches off




her computer.

An orange blue
bird
huddled outside under another
fluffy bird's wing gives you
an impression of wholeness
calm now
and swim

I owned a lot of things
that are not mine
and did for very long-

Now I ask you
to take it back.

And if the dark disgusts you
maybe take some time
and start by promising
that you will not
push all your ****
to me
again.

Or I will promise
to myself
that I won't take it.

Holding
holding
holding the strings together
of the net which is
already ripped
you are so
devastated
clutching
the wet fabric
and yet with almost
99 percent by now-

you see the picture
of torn down stone walls
houses
bridges
bricks and cans and garbage bags
all tied together in a sac
of string
and how a kid
with fatal look and scissors
approaches -

you **** well know the kid will bring you freedom
you
****
well
know-

why hesitation?
why delay?
cause things take time til their decay can be
accepted-

look up
and see the waters rolling in
look up and see
the flood

let the kid
cut
the last remaining string
and roll with it

Eve
Full of renewed
Confidence
Gets up and climbs
Over the garden fence

Body
feels like

sunny side up.

To turn
your Inside out
you learn
all this

To wrap the world
around you
not
to walk
towards it anymore

Bleeding hands,
dear rub
your  face
analyse over and over
       what is there to ask but
one thing:
do you
really wanna cling to this
do you