My light will go out,

it couldn't get any darker --


Here I am. Take me.

You eat of the past

only the halal portion:


the bloodless stories.

Bits and bytes, shooting

through the circuits, are playing --


twister super fast.

She submerges us

in a great deluge of words --


We're completely soaked.

God must be sky blue,

then there will be no problems --


will be white nor black.

The ritual after work
in the dark at the end
of the evening twilight

The dim light of the low clouds
in 1883, when the nights in the country
were still black

The farmer stoops
poking a dry smell
from the weeds of the day

It lingers
in a plume of smoke
above the sparks

Chapel in the woods:

inside, the flames are flaring --


autumnal silence.

No one is themselves,

people are always leaking --


in each other's lives.

The words keep whining

in my head, they're complaining --


their imposed silence.

Quiet! Stop shouting!
There's nothing to worry about
because God gets what He wants
That is... winning, say the books
the dogmas and the prophets
God is God, He gets what He wants

He wants war and peace, famine
and full shops, freedom and revolution
He wants Semtex and He wants ***
lots of virgins and gigolos and
He gets what He wants
or is that a joke?

God wants borders, drugs and flood
God wants laws, gangs and crime
God wants prayers and big money
pounds and dollars, rupees and rials
renminbi, euros and pesos
The liras He rejects

God wants subservience
He loves secrets
solutions and the internet
God wants to laugh
so He helps us all
and He gets what He wants

God wants friendship and fame
with drinks and dinners, He wants registers
and banks, He wants credit with or without
interest, He wants debt and poverty
and insurances for everything
He gets what He wants

The squatting men place

the spittoon further away --


and aim into it.

The Queen of Nothing

gave hope to the poor people --


She was dangerous.

You hear the echoes

of guides everywhere, despite --


the signs 'Silence Please'.

I'm falling apart, believe me
it's real, and not a request
for pity, just
falling apart, cracking
like an old jar

I've been through too much
suffered too much, for now
it is going slowly
but still faster

I can't keep myself
together anymore, so be it
I just let you know
then you can come
to accept it too

I will soon be about
630 million impersonal
particles, dust
of course
without consciousness

She is unswerving,

imperious: a fortress --


may not move, never.

Drowning refugees,

sailing to the other side --


of their hope, their dream.

When I can't handle

it anymore, I am saved --


by hours of boredom.

I'm ashamed, I eat

brownie crumbs, in the movie --


I've **** in my mouth.

Being in love, blind,

but don't be blind later on --


It would be the end.

Just you, all of you,

and my imagination --


and my hankering.

Your world is inside

your head, existing inside --


real reality.

My father narrates,

the speaker is off, I film --


deep inside his mind.

It's like a Hopper

painting, sitting on a bench --


next to my father.

Back in the Garden

of Love, I walk around lost --


among gravestones.

Sand lays a ribbon

of rolling shapes covering --


the edge of the land.

It stopped working,

it's fake love, not a real hug:


no more alcohol!

Don't fear disaster,

grandma says, but I dream it --


happens anyway.

Sadness is within,

first a series of crackers --


and then howling dogs.

Her pious father

locks me up and my girlfriend --


he pulls to the bed.

I left her behind,

'See you tomorrow', I thought --


it would be okay.

Mother just lies there.

Mama, do you hear me, please --


Mama, please wake up!

Just tell who you are,

tell it like a story, then --


it won't be too bad.

In the dark I can

see what I want, like a book --


a bed, my mother.

I learn the stories

while I'm listening to them --


While I'm telling them.

Well, ultimately,

human beings are born from --


the same Father: Chance.

I'm fully present,

my body, all my senses --


here, in this garden.

The wind blows, the trees

are bare and wet, the full moon --


glides pale behind them.

A rubber bath duck,

croaking in an ***** pipe --


participating.

Two people will form

a community, any --


trio will split up.

Back from the city,

I clearly see, rich people --


here are just paupers.

With power one has

much more authority than --


a scholar or saint.

The wobbling chair has

only two legs, and a rope --


to the ceiling beam.

Beware, your body

is a prey for the devil --


He makes you hungry.

Over there: the Ocean,

inside me another one --


Without Lighthouses.

Safety: high walls all

around, and a large bell jar --


with firing angels.

When do people still

wonder? You know, there's so much --


they have seen before.

My alibi is

simply that I don't want to --


betray my comrades.

I am an island,

I just have to wait and see --


if Love docks with me.

Stories that end well...

well, there really aren't any --


There are no endings.

The timpani warm

up, gently stirring the voice --


in their big bellies.