Gum. I,
Breath freshener. I,
Sweet and tasty, till
Spit, forbid
That heavenly warmth
Of being used,
Onto the winter earth,
Ground into flatness,
Losing my wrinkles,
My color,
My soul.

Getting old: I look

carefully at the flower --


Today I still can.

Down in the yarrow
princes and princesses eat
the green, yellow, and red apples
(toddlers get apple sauce)

Teachers share them all day
they ask questions and practise
answers, always something new
under the sun, and then we sleep
under the moon and the stars

From childhood I hang
my branches full of apples
until they can't hold the weight
and collapse under the burden
or break from old age

Yes, I have grown old
Searching for connections
I get lost more and more often
(and I eat apple sauce again)

We haven't made any gold
and are sitting in the stench
of 50 buckets of *****

Trophies surround us
from the seven-locked cabinet
as a battery around our happiness

Tonight we borrow luxury
for a debt to the future
and we drink to bygone days

We stuff gnawed bones
into our nostrils like jewellery
and eat comfort cake with whipped cream

The party is drawing to a close
the mattresses are ready
for after the drinks bath

Everything is oh so interesting, we talk
louder and louder, listen how superbly
we imitate animal sounds

The beautiful vase

is old and porous, but still --


it's full of flowers.

I was young, I went

to experience grand beauty
on hands of success, and now
I walk on clouds

of electric light
glitter and admiration
celebrating my retirement

in the heaven of parties
star among the stars
the smiling beautiful people

their pearls, botultox and gel
in semi-gray hair, tireless
in time to the brass

Nobody needs to go to the toilet
we are hovering over the beds
in which despair tosses and turns

because of the days and the years
of dreamed lives, and we dance
the conga since we are going

nowhere

On week-days, in the evenings, I pass
windows of people who know nothing:
the couple who've been kissing for ten days
and waiting people everywhere
Nowhere I find the grand beauty
I want to live for

I walk around to share my melancholy
memories of my plans and yours
We're having a good time
with pretended complacency
and we dedicate ourselves
to the sweet doing nothing

We chat and are distracted
After the first birds
I feel sad and incompetent
for the days in the bright light
the decay of our lives outside
the magic world of the night

I am old, I am

quietly watching the world --


Only now, it's mine.

In the last darkness
before dawn, after the party
I wander through the city
my familiar city

The sky is clear
I have no idea
what I would want

The river glides by
Empty quays, no traffic
silence around the monuments
and everything neatly swept

Naked people made
of marble and paint
live in the museum palaces

The princesses play cards
in the basement of the servants
and my steps resound
in the floodlight of time

Old memories can't

handle any more input --


than one's own subjects.