Behind her: a man,

his head perched on her shoulder --


like a frightful hawk.

So strange, wealth offers

everything to be happy --


and yet it doesn't work.

Gee, where exactly

are the landmines that I placed --


the lies and the truths?

Owners own the land,

but the gardens will belong --


to the gardeners.

The tempest tears roofs

away from attic secrets --


devours people's pasts.

A tangled patchwork,

bits of all kinds of people --


that's how Mumbai was.

Might fidelity

be: pretending love, hoping --


it will get better?

My kisses ask you:

please love me, I do love you --


because I kiss you.

Politics revolves

around trying to control --


our powerlessness.

Cruel potentates

establish 'peace', simply by --


creating wastelands.

Finding the greater

problem and proclaiming it --


thát is politics!

It is all pastel,

the light, the music and I --


this very spring day.

Power is itself,

you can never possess it --


you only use it.

Politicians are at the top
of language, salesperson
and lawyer in one they
compress the voters' words
with lobbyists and preachers
along the line, it's all

about bluff and the art
of getting stuck every now and then
so that a competitor has to come
and help and inconspicuously
pushed on previous promises
crashes, chokes on them

or at least tears
himself inside
on their blade
You too, Brutus?
It is a full moon
The people are cheering

Today, an excursion to a temple
somewhere further along the river
and we don't take anything with us

although no one seems to be there
so there will be no daily rites
This must be a lesson

We walk single file
through the forest, we walk
over the edge

of a basin, we are there
in the middle of the temple
a row of orange flags

in the open cave
of the waterfalls
of time

which overwhelm me
and carry me away, for a week
I can't be found

Only the forest sees me
while my body meditates
and does not know that I exist

Every day we are

celebrating without frills --


just being grateful.

I like early mornings
then I'm on my way with a cart
and every day I find something
      
that has been put on the pavements
of the city, a teapot
tools, books, mikado
an outdated radio
a kitchen chair and stuff

In the winter I rummage about in the pub
in the summer along the canals
A failed, sometimes beloved man

Till my true one and I
will occupy an empty house
with a teapot, books, mikado
tools, an outdated radio
a kitchen chair and stuff

I met Sharon, walked

her along unknown canals --


with bikes everywhere.

If I behave, I can participate
half as a half-grown as if
it were fun in that world
on its head that thinks it can

cheer me up with a smile, kid
the best time of your life...
Cynics! Down with them! Down with fake!
I have square shoulders

just wait, I'm beating
the drum, I'm in
the hangout
about to

They have been hanging
for so long that their brains turn
everything around, having no idea
what's real, what's fake

Exploring the world,

you better not be afraid --


of getting lost there.

In the city there are many doors
that are open at night
to being awake
experiencing something together
across the threshold
no longer being an outsider

In the city there are many sidewalks
where people stand
and explore distant areas
with flexible words
questions and mental leaps
to become familiar with them

In the city there are many gardens
where children play, birds
whistle and all year round, flowers
attract bees and people
to come and feast
on the nectar of the day

Knowledge of human

nature: learning that people --


are not characters.

Being in love, with a smile, not blind
to our differences, the life that lies
behind us and the preferences

that, with the fortunate lack
of temerity, are difficult to convince
of the taste and wisdom of others
- heard very, very benevolently
and without indulgence, found
charming, yes, longing for more
content and more togetherness

in the phase that lies ahead, our choices
to be joined softly and smoothly
in shared open spaces

Another new birth,

another programmed clotting --


of exploded cells.

Next to what was once

the farmyard, a kitchen chair --


in the tall wild grass.

Clouds passing over

the sun give life to the floor --


it breathes up and down.

After the **** breach,

somewhere in the water, still --


a howling siren.

I don't have a hold,

my mind's floating in the sky --


rootless like seaweed.

Grandpa is bony,

his mouth speaks clearly, even --


though he says nothing.

Without falling I get

ahead of my legs, it is --


quite an exercise!

Flowers wilt, even

if they are out of the sun --


and made of paper.

The chicks are dancing

around drolly in their shells --


their thick diapers.

I flounder, hanging

over grandpa's leg, hello --


super shiny shoes!

Pulling slowly, I

sing my sensitive skin out --


of the sticky shade.

I count all my friends

and am left with five fingers --


to shake hands with you!

The sky is clear blue,

the day is new, I am free --


from expectations.

Forgive me, I won't

demand so much anymore --


and then receive more.

The world is too tight,

would I be too big for it --


or can it still grow?

Progress is the storm

that has risen at the gates --


of Eden's garden.

Keep carrying me

till you have to lay me down --


till I let you go.

To reconcile us

I sing appropriate words --


the old well-known song.

The ground beneath her

feet has taken her, the earth --


whose praises I sang.

They are just shouting

back and forth, then continue --


mumbling to themselves.

The underwater

***** takes a breath, gurgles --


and splutters out tones.

A golden story

is not forged of sparkling truth --


It shines with deceit.

With a clean duster,

the maid goes around the house --


waving like a queen.

You cry in your sleep,

that is a side of yourself --


that you don't know yet.

The palace houses

parties, madness, betrayal --


Still it does remain.

Sell your cleverness

for the messy confusion --


of wisdom of life.

In the big city,

one person's ceiling is an-


other person's floor.