Boys thinking to be

a good lover, sink their claws --


into the girl's soul.

The cold lies thick
over the world like dust
as if no one has been
there for a long time

and I have been
forgotten or overlooked
left behind as if I couldn't
be taken with them

No one with whom I can
share what I feel, the cold
since you've been gone, the cold
since I've been home alone

No one
to tell that
I have lost you
my dear darling

All alone
No one
who sees, who knows
that I miss you

Once you falter, you

keep doing so, in circles --


that will get smaller.

Are you an angel, am I a dog?
Are you from heaven and I from hell?
Or are you a dog, my dog?
And will we go to hell together?

Where are you taking me?
Where am I taking you?
Why do you want to love me?
What can I ever give you?

The more you love me
the more I have to
betray your love, tear it apart
like a dog at the gate

The more you believe in me, the more
I'll bite back until your love is dead
at the gates of heaven
or the gates of hell

The future eats me,


which I don't mind, as long as --



I feel the chewing.

At home, no clothes on
brushing my hair
putting on makeup
laughing in the mirror

Toasting myself:
I love me
after you

At home, no clothes on
the curtains open
free, free in sight
of the dark

In the night I am free
in the night I love me
after you

Let the streets see me
let the night see me
I'm not going to hide
after you

Everyone may see me
I love me
after you

I crawled, I stood up,


grandpa only nodded: yes --



that's how one grows up.

My tent has a hole
at the top, that's the moon
which always shines
Before me, after me

Moon, you have room, right?
Tell me, do you have a place
for my heart?
Then, I'll come

to you
when I die, I will
to let my love shine
together with you

..One day I'll have to leave
..everything behind
..and none of it is mine
..except my love
..which is mine, all mine

for my loved one here on earth
That's why I hope
I can shine on him
with you later

..Nothing is mine
..except my love
..which is mine
..all mine
..all mine

I like the attic,

sitting in the armchair, in --


front of the window.

From year to year there are
memories snowing, covering
and blocking the driveway

I shovel them aside
I must get out, I must
do some shopping

And when they start to melt
when they drip down
the drainpipe and run away

I lie awake in bed
listening and following
the rippling in the gutter

It makes me desperate
I want to leave, a break
to write it all down

to tell it
in the dark and be
answered, applauded

From the violence

of two jostling elephants --


the grass is injured.

My ear is colour positive
the red rim boils
from your words, a bright
light bursts from the auricle
and hangs in front of my mouth

in front of my held breath
my lips not quite open
my thoughts unspoken

my look colour negative
with well blooded brains
crossed arms, glowing
with suspicion and defiance
with the desire to attack

You won't get away with it
you won't get away with it
you won't get away with it

From the storm, the flood,

washed ashore in the silence --


of the newborn day.

In the evening I like to walk
through the streets, looking
at the people in their houses
and then I wonder who
I would like to swap with

and what kind of swap that would be
What do I give and what do I get?
A soul for a soul, maybe
not to keep forever
but, who would want mine

with all its consequences?
Of course I don't get an answer
A bird on a street-lamp
is looking at me, it's night
so it doesn't sing

whether it's free or captive
it doesn't sing, because it's night
But we're not alone now
and I'd like to swap with it
Yes, I did

Helping people with

a hundred arms breaks you up --


if you're not a god.

I want other thoughts
I don't like to be alone
with those opinions
about what I do

So I turn up the music
and I work hard, with a cake
on holidays, a whole cake
all for me

And then I feel sick
and I have to throw up
Another memory
that I won't lose

It's quietly waiting for doubts
and then it stands in line
with all my thoughts
about what I have done

Not a party, not a cake
not a whole cake for me
just my work, so
don't take that away from me

In bed I listen

to the piano playing --


somewhere down the road.

Mosquitoes may drink my blood
I stay here to enjoy myself
the blood of the moon

the fireflies in the garden
and the whooping children
around a campfire somewhere

...Behind, a freight train rumbles past
...Once the hooves of bison pounded there

My dreams are blind and nameless
They **** on the spot
and eat when I'm away

Maybe it would be easier
without them, but when I see them
asleep, everything is fine

...Behind, a freight train rumbles past
...Once the hooves of bison pounded there

I must go with it,

and so do you, the stream pulls --


everyone along.

There's a little black angel
stuck in the liquor residue
at the bottom of my glass

I like to drink, a glass
is nice company, just
like family, Family

That little black angel is me
It's my good self, my love
stuck at the bottom

of your promises
that you couldn't keep
That rookie mistake

Promises you break
will break you
I know all about it

with the self-invented consolation
that a fallen angel
is still an angel

A person who boasts

of a quality, wishes --


to receive it, right?

Our love fills the room
The basso continuo of your voice
conforms and mixes
with the song of the string
that you strike within me
resounding into heaven
- heaven, heaven

I bend my branches
with you, I ripple thoughts
of you all over you
I drink the rest from your cup
pressing my lips where yours
still kiss me, in heaven
- heaven, heaven

Outside the storm dances
something free, it runs away
around the corner, into the night
which we make wait
while we stay here
in the light of heaven
- heaven, heaven

Father is the black

next to the red smouldering --


of the cigar tip.

The girl with the fan
goes up the bridge
the water reflects
her slender image

The gentlemen peer
casually ahead -
to the girl with the fan
who wants to be wed

The girl with the fan
is silently beckoning
the ruffles rustle
what she is thinking

The gentlemen stare
as they portly squire
their fair-haired wives
in fancy attire

The crickets chirping
their love songs westwards

(The girl is hopping
there to the pastures)

The crickets chirping
amidst the flowers

(The gentlemen are
still walking northwards)

The little blue hat,

she always wears it, because --


why would she undress?

Notre-Dame, she is quite old: although she may
bury Paris, which has witnessed her birth, one day
But in thousand years or more, Time will make recoil
her heavy body, like a wolf does with a bull
and twist each iron axon, each of her neurones
to gnaw alas, with its blunt tooth, her bones of stones!

Many men will overflow the island in the Seine
to contemplate the barren ruin, the last remains
dreamers, re-reading what Victor Hugo has seen ahead:
- Then they'll think they see the old basilica
as it was, mighty and magnificent, a Gloria
rising up before them like the shadow of a dead!

Our souls are not whole,

they are split, in other words --


they're schizophrenic.

A girl passed by, the sound I heard
was fast and flashy like a bird's
A shining flower in her hair
a new song dancing in the air

Perhaps her very heart could twine
on me and then unite with mine
And coming in my depths of night
her glance would put me in the light!

But too outdated is my head...
Farewell, sweet ray that shines on me
your perfume, youth, the harmony...
This happiness had to pass. It fled!

I tirelessly write...

application letters to --


waste paper baskets.

No fast traffic here
no high steel and concrete
in the streets, but
walkable space

The sun draws attention
away from us, towards the light
on the black facades on the harbour
the white cornices and red tiles:

the picture for the photos
of the tanned tourists
on the terrace of the tanhouse
who walk into our gardens

as if we live here
in an open-air museum
and should praise
their silly insolence

as a decent interest
But we can live with it
The visitors walk around
in a parallel reality

and we have real neighbours
a wide sky, the wide water
and the green island
We can breathe here

as the wood breathes
in the seasons
as the wind breathes
in the grass

My attention, where

does it go, what do I want --


to see of the world?

After the ritual you were better
but the medicine
made you burn again
Are you still feeling nauseous?

If only you had listened to me
He can't help it either
he needs those ice pops
against the ulcers in his mouth

Don't forget to buy batteries
and tomorrow you have to do it
like me, especially the bathroom
and don't put anything exactly in its place

then it will be clear
that you have cleaned
Oh this misery
all the noise

wet bedding
high deposit
and your family
isn't helping

When the prisoners

are outside, they walk circles --


inside in their heads.

How do you smell, how softly elastic
is your skin, how will your mouth kiss
my heart on your tongue?

Is there any solid ground
on which I am safe
other than under your feet?

Shall I write to you
about your eyes, that
they have cast me down

and I don't want to
but have no other choice
but to wait for you

your gaze on me
a word to me
the tips of your fingers

of which I dream
and cannot sleep
for fear and longing

even in love
with this stammering
of my happiness

I'm longing for him,

to fold himself around me --

wrap me up for good.

In the commotion,

police officers salute --


in all directions.

Don't trust him! He's nuts,

he even confuses Kant --


with Schopenhauer!

I fly in the blue,

look, my whole body is blue, --


Fly and sing with me!

It has to be done!

Let's go: into the mirror --


without a blindfold!

The wind surrounds us.

The restless howling tells us --


that we are inside.

Goats bleat on the roofs,

people wade to the market --


buses blow the horn.

The priest is too old,

not suitable for people --


not for God either.

In the trenches they

run busily back and forth:


the thousands of mice.

It is by waiting

that you can see what the world --


has to offer you.

There's little time for

love and affection, people --


have to work and die.

When dad comes home, he

brings many countries with him:


Dreams run through my blood.

The birds, the wind and

you sing to me 'Sleep, Sleep well --


we'll be loving you.'

It is nice to dream,

if only you walk with me --


starwalking with me.

The empty chair may

not be my father's chair, but --


I do miss him now.

She flows out, her sea

of words is not a story --


no, it is herself.