People like to talk

about the required signposts --


but who is going?

We say goodbye, short

- long - stop, the signalling code --


of: I think of you.

There's so much to do,

without knowing if my life --


is worth what it costs.

Boxes in the wind,

rolling on, getting one kick --


after the other.

End of the story,

because she says the sentence:


But I did not cry.

You should be yourself,

but don't bother anyone --


that's the condition.

Finished, desk empty,

there's nothing on it at all --


just my lower arms.

I shout: I'll help you,

grab the rope that I throw up --


from the deep, deep pit.

Picking a flower

to hear the snap, the flower --


can be thrown away.

Sometimes I hear bells

ringing, high in the blue sky --


blue aerial bells.

My story hides what

I did, I'm ashamed of it --


it must be a crime.

Whatever you say

to somebody else, you say --


to yourself as well.

They're always swimming,

but fish do move even more --


outside the water.

Interrogators

give you a magnifier --


to observe yourself.

They don't understand

me, so I just say something --


contradictory.

Farewell: we don't eat,

it just seems that way, as you --


also see in plays.

At regular times

a message comes, stating: this --


connection exists.

There's a museum

called Ministry of the Sea --


No coast anymore.

You find your own laws

of nature, because you choose --


your observations.

Reluctance wants to

be alone, unobserved not --


doing what you want.

The crow: greedily

she comes close, flying away --


at could be danger.

Office is a place

of meeting where people talk --


and that creates work.

Splashing, destroying

the puddle by stamping, and --


again, and again.

Your plan says: turn left,

okay, your feet are walking --


and then you turn right.

With the scouts I build

a good cooking fire, that is --


having my hat on.

We don't talk about

anything, we only smell --


of the same bath soap.

Knowing someone well,

wanting to believe it, that --


it is possible.

Phone conversation,

about the locations we --


are supposedly at.

I do remember

her bicycle from back then --


but no faces at all.

No one's listening,

so there is no censorship --


of the protesters.

People celebrate

the astronauts on the moon --


who'd like to join in.

Mama told me things,

as a toddler, that I'd like --


to know from her now.

We wear white plastic

slats as a stole, we're playing --


a Roman drama.

Shame is having fear

of something ordinary --


that is a secret.

Our view from the train:

I ride away from the past --


she heads the future.

Climb up the ladder

and look next to you, a snake --


is waiting for you!

One never knows when.

Well, a next time is nothing --


more than that: next time.

On the windowsill,

a bird, does it sing to me?


Is it bringing news?

You more or less know

what kind of day it will be --


Now you colour it.

If a door is not a door
but an artistic optical illusion
then I can still appreciate that
but an inheritance of debts
or a romantic wedding night
in 'Paris l'amour' going wrong

are certainly not dreams
I wish to come true
I rather keep up the fairy tales

So I point to a positive side
or I play that it goes well
and nothing is at stake
But is a tree alive when it rustles?

What is truth? Can illusions just be
recognized by the appearance
to be as real as real?

Or even more real, if happiness
is re-enacted in a play, because
loyalty and doubt seem to be
much more authentic on stage
and to render more sense there
than is possible in my own life

After the fireworks

I don't see any ghosts left --


only ***** snow.

Living to the full,

always searching for balance --


and finding myself.

You don't live to get

to know yourself, nonetheless --


it is part of it.

I half-hold her hand,

it's the cautious beginning --


of saying goodbye.

Should I continue

her life, and keep inventing --


how she would do things?

I just stopped writing

that diary of mine since --


it is never true.

Our conversations

are silent conversations --


There is no anger.

The corner café

must close, because times have changed --


There is a new law.

What does my father

smell like inside, how much worse --


than his stinking breath?

A stone on a stone

on a stone, that's how I climb --


higher and higher.