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you hold your hands up
--to stop it?--
you, erbärmliches Behagen
--to fend it off?--
you pathetic creature
**** yourself
disgusting striving toward nothing
disregard your feeling and your noteworthiness 
nothing of value
--to stop it?--
you are nothing of value
--to fend it off?--
heart beating
wind howling
permeable gestures in the dark 
green-on-black horizon over an invisible sea
something could be out there
who knows
who asks
who sees
you do, in your wordless way
choke on your breath
muttering incongruously to yourself
was it here before-- has it come around again?
small, blue metal sphere, indifferent to you
flies into back of your head
where it has been
(indifferent or not different from your suffering,
its impact is one and the same with you)
please stay, you mumble as it darts away again

that's why, you wonder
that's why, you think
you are lost in your unsubstantiated thought
you blink
relieved everything came out this way
If I had any courage, I'd read the masters
The translations of the masters by the foregone masters' handlers
Or so I thought
My dyslexic mind
Scavenges for words recorded
For me to hear
Free form poetry is sad, but allows a sense of wonder, or,
jealous appreciation of great accomplishment

I doubt my skill
And wish I knew Rumi's Persian style
So that I could read in silence
Without grasping for some faulty foothold in my own
And falling
Asleep, with his unread anthology on my chest
I am an art of human
A seed unto the world cast loose
Holding what's unfurled
Beneath, a lonesome seeker of truth
It is undue to suffer
Through a seemly, caustic night
Unbidden, untoward, unwellitude
And unbright
But in the hull solemnitude
And unkind
We find ourselves in solitude
Inside a well, unlit
art being double-meaning for in german Art is type, like species, and has a generally positive connotation in english as comparing oneself to a work of art
don't really know how to make it a clear distinction in the poem without making it pedantic and weird but it seems not to fit with the seed metaphor and really i lost the thread at the end there... the ship is in a well? idk it's an old poem i found in my email and i can't pick up where i left off

always compulsively edit your poems before you lose your train of thought, kids, you will not make heads or tails of it later
Everything is lying in me
Decays between twilight and being dead
All that can not be true
But it damages my head
With plausibility and anger
I don't let myself loose
Being free is insanity
Here, on this earth,
I lie alone at the moment and forever
Strengthen myself
To come clear
with myself
My consciousness lies
On a pillow nearby in the shadow
Without passion I shiver
and freeze
blows the wind in my eyes
and I look past
Well, a tear whispers
or do I only ask myself why not?
The most miserable contentment
Everything hangs near and is missed by me

Alles lügnet in mir
verfällt zwischen Zwielicht und Totsein
Das alles kann nicht wahr sein
Aber schädet mein Kopf
Mit Plausibilität und Ärger
ich lass mich selber nicht los
Freisein ist Wahnsinn
Hier, auf dieser Erde,
Liege ich plötzlich allein und für immer
Bekräftige mich
Um klar zu kommen
Mit mir
Liegt mir das Bewusstsein
Am Kissen nebenbei im Schatten
Ohne Wollust zittere ich
Und friere
blässt der Wind in meinen Augen
Und schau' ich vorbei
Na, flüstert eine Träne
Oder frage ich mir nur wieso sonst?
Erbärmlichsten Behagen
Alles hängt nah und fehlt mir
I like to jot down thoughts in my somewhat limited German vocabulary and see where they lead. It allows me to shut off that nagging doubt about clarity and just get my words out before i immediately start revising and covering my tracks.
I like free-association and building on the first word that comes to mind.
Usually translating them seems to approach the general idea I was going for and seeing the difference between english and german amuses me.
hopefully you enjoyed reading this and taking a tour into my creative process.
I hid beneath the cover when she left
smoke filled the black emptiness of my mind
and she was gone
There is a new word describing me
type one, type two, type three
nothing is as it once seemed
brown bandages become red, ******
catheters go up my urethra
when I refuse to take your drug test
by accident.
I'm clean, now, clean and pure
I take Abilify to make sure
and remember that it's all an imbalance
and remember that everyone else is balanced
and remember that the whole ******* world is balanced
on a tether formed by gravity
gravity-- the severity of this situation-- is lost on me
and on that tether we all walk
unbridled by the weight of our bodies
we can shake all that makes us human
and pathologize every thought crime
every idea needs to be cleansed
with a catheter into the brain
we would be able to test it for drugs
and find that all I was high on was existence
and how terrible it is
that we will all die
but that shouldn't bother a doctor at all, now
should it.
What is it to be free in an unfree world?
Madness, as the only escape, is what I have chosen.
Madness in the sense of unrest,
Disavowal of the properties proscribing my actions
I smoke and drink to put off life
to ensnare nothingness with breath
and feel contingency take its hold on me
I want wine, furies and song to be my epitaph
and grasp at meaninglessness with two sweaty palms

I am not comfortable and never shall be
with this notion of decidedness and squalor of the mind
yet it is I

I know little of the great works and can hardly hold a pencil

This is where I meet myself, a worker, unfit for labor
exposed to existentialism and sick

I shudder, alone forever

Good things given to and wasted on me

I am death encapsulated
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