I've a busy head,

it's full and so much bigger --


than the rest of me.

There is something, It

is earthly, I sense it, shreds --


of a mystery.

I really need to

go outside and get some air --


I need the silence.

Love does prove itself

in attentively hearing --


of what is not said.

These are caring days.

We eat, we work and we bath --


These are perfect days.

Barefoot, my mother

squats next to me in the grass --


very intimate.

The tension is gone:

it's important, or it's not --


and now it comes out.

The dear family

photo, with a golden edge --


of melancholy.

The pointing finger.

Does it point to my finger?


To my path in life?

The blue butterflies live
on honey from the magic world
of changes -

the rain and shine
and the wing beats
of all the bodies

with more or less happiness
suffered injuries and tears
for unwelcome outcomes

I massage my aching belly
full of vampire moths
As long as I live

blue butterflies will
fly up from the womb
of my affection

Butterflies around

us, you and me, laughing we --


pamper each other.

Only noticed in a small circle
and even so
not quite for who you are
      
and what you are able to, almost unneeded
unfortunately that is common
Time keeps going by
      
and later, life forgets
everyone and everything that was known
and then there is no difference anymore

Celebrity is a lie
pinned on a beacon
It does not matter
      
but sometimes you sit around doing nothing
and you feel that it is a pity
for your children, your friends and society
      
that you're not of more importance
or leave behind more
Time keeps going by
      
and life forgets what has been

Be generous, give

a like for a like, force it --


through the bad gateway.

I peek at my classmates
who I am, and I try it
out on them, because
they don't know me yet

Not as well as Mum
who already knows who I am
and comments on it
which often stops me

from being myself, from doing
as I please, Mum says
rather take example
by your brother or by us

I find it quite a hassle
to find out how
I am, I think I am
constantly changing

I learn every day,

from my fellow students, that --


I am different.

It is windless
Plastic water in the canal
I'm having dinner with my mother

Then I linger at the crossroads
on the way home
My rooms are so empty

and you live nearby
I can go to you
and yet I can't

Behind the thin curtains
is the street, the city, alive
Nobody sees me

I'd like to read love letters
from you, confessions
that you never wrote to me

I keep thinking about that -
waiting for sleep, lying still
like a doll

That old age problem,

of course you know, I have it --


anyway, type 3!

Silent. Dark. House
All the time I'm thinking
of you, your silent steps

in my memories of
your steps in this house
blindly in the dark

from my confusion to
the love under my fear

a void now, no voice
to shout, no tears
no longer a body, lost

if I were to leave here
or live a different life
if I would like to

Landscape in the door

of the shanty, autumn leaves --


being blown around.

I'm sitting at the table, maybe
sleeping, I think for a second
at the blare of a siren
that takes along the smell
of puffed chestnuts from my nose
to an emergency

In the kitchen I see
the cat looking expectantly
and the clouds pass swiftly
past the drowsy sun
We're going to play soon
first I make coffee

High and low the boiling
water and the traffic rustle
my eyes shut, I feel
the cold under the arid air
of autumn, it will take long
before spring comes

Only slept little:

you were looking for something --


and then time crawled on.

It's never about

first this and then that, a truth --


is a coherence.

My nose in the cat,

the fur smells lovely, like a --


freshly steamed blanket.

The wind blows, nothing

happens, maybe unless you --


look to see something.

Something different:

a story of a search what --


crime was committed.

Joys are flying up,

flapping like white doves, filling --


the corners with life.

You are here with me

and the world is everywhere --


You can talk through it.

Look for a long time -

you'll merge into the colour:


into It, Something.

A storm is rising,

my peace is disturbed, I have --


to get on with life.

We pile up power

and build the tallest tower --


Then it collapses.

My big brother is

a regular straight guy, well --


nothing you can do.

The *** Ed booklet:

man and woman hand in hand --


keeping their distance.

Dad drinks Mama's wine,

thinking of the old days, when --


they drank together.

I do as I like,

Mum stays calm, I don't know if --


I even exist.

The ecstatic heart-

brake in that opera song --


while we're having ***.

When we say goodbye,

my waving hand trembles, but --


father doesn't notice.

They can be loving:

father talks to the dog and --


my son lures the cat.

Upon your death, friends

unanimously agree --


on your character.

Love me, so leave me

alone, there is no place here --


but for me, you see.

I wasn't there, but my

imagination sees it --


happening again.

If I ever find

you here whatsitcalled, you will --


whatsitcalled feel it!

I just see fragments

of my life, only too late --


I understand them.

Teaching religion.

First lesson: unbelievers --


do not belong here.

He eats well, just look,

my phalanx fits easily --


in his navel hole.

The eerie room is

frightening me with shadows  --


of scary monsters.

The questions, the doubts,

the suspicion, that monster --


with too many heads.

Look at the people

around me to understand --


the course of my life.

The moon shines sorrow

into me, yet I'm looking --


through a haze of tears.

My work is simple,

I too am averagely --


uninteresting.

Dying means little

without fantasy, else it's --


about everything.