The songs of that time

were our world, the places where --


we saw each other.

We didn't dare, but could

we have done it anyway?


Just believe in it?

My hand wants to know
what I, what they
want, do, and to
understand what is happening

to my body, and what
it has to do with me

My soul also wants to
know in order to know
and to laugh about it
when I think I know something

Laugh relievingly
Think about why

others do what they do
and then, what hold
my hand has
to help

I think ahead
behind my clouds
the sun shines
the sun smiles

People in the street

are making jokes with a laugh --


that they give to me.

He talks about her

all the time, so there's a chance --


it's almost over.

Visitors give me,

as a sick person, knowledge --


of human nature.

The long way back
to my skin's old threshold
limits, replacing the alarm
with a notification
without crisis consultation

and more
than the sensation
of smells and tastes
and more
than the satisfaction
of strength and fatigue

and more
than laughing muscles to feel
there is contact
in between thinking
Placing a lot at a distance
to have space close by

to be balanced
and to love myself
to accept touches
uninhibited, not creeping
like the scent of wisteria

The baby senses

it, so it begins to cry --


Now we can cry too.

I pick up plants from the street and slow down
Caring with soil, scissors and cotton wool
I slow down and cook, for him, and with him
everything else slows down. I don't do much

At first wilfully, daily exercises
and meditation, my body asked for it
Attention

Esther covered my skin, he caresses
it, he catches my navel lint
Childish games, silly jokes
Giggling like a lama

Cuddling, energy
from the sun behind my clouds
Peace of on and off buttons

The slower ******* and spitting
of the ganglia in my head
No more overdrive
All neural pathways know it

So tasty, the smell

of steaming bread, freshly baked --


while I was sleeping.

This music is so

nice that I play it even --


better than I can!

The sitting room makes

me feel like I have to walk --


in a gliding way.

Father chases me,

we run around the table --


three times, always three.

Dad doesn't say who is

the most beautiful woman:


Your mother of course!

The wind blows away

all that love has been, it is --


rustling in the trees.

An elevator

full of weal and woe, up and --


down in my sick head.

Come in, look at me,

look at my inner world, my --


inner wallpaper.

Life passes quickly,

I hear the wasted time bark --


like dogs in the night.

Chance brought you here
and me, we don't look

too much, unconscious
of the questions in the eyes

the other one sees
We're on the way, talking

or silent, calmly
letting the energy flow

through the gates of desire
to the organs of our happiness

and we forget ourselves,
bathing in peace:

heaven supports the earth
she breathes her seasons

around and around in parties
of life and we are

The study takes years,

so it easily will take --


me even longer.

Freedom is doing
something for one's own
reasons, taken from nothing
and no one

A child is free
in its game, everyone
can be it and learn it
in friendship

Grown-up free
every new day
own agendas only
to live and let live

To do what you do and
to say what you say
for your own reasons
and not wanting it any other way

Very puzzling is

the miscellaneous news:


Hów did it happen?

You don't have to say a thing
not even my name
we walk a bit

from embrace to embrace
securing all the preceding
deep in our belly

Maybe there is too much
to discuss, but soon
half words will be enough

and we will kiss each other
with poetic sentences
full of love in their gaps

like our whole life is
an agenda full of gaps
filled with friends

care and roses
experiences kept deep
in our belly without words

I feel no worship,

no love or amorousness --


but a blissful fear.

It's Friday the thirteenth
again. I stay at home
due to circumstances:

a dragging wind
and storming sirens
The cameras break

taboos and peek
into windowless sleeping
rooms, front pieces

after the wind of roughskirts
who celebrate their gains
in stinking silence. I close

the curtains, my eyes and mouth
I'm not here, hello hello
don't you see I'm not here

and I can do nothing about it -
absent due to circumstances
which I can do nothing about

It is super thin,

the gold leaf that will survive --


the iconoclasm.

On the bridge before these walls
stood the spears with the heads
of all who were in the way

cut off on the block, with ravels
if the convicted refused
to pay the headsman

for a quick death, the heads
with holes where the blackbirds pick
the holes where the eyes were

The parishioners wore shawls
over their noses and mouths
during the Sunday service

in the church of the chains
because it reeked from the vault
full of beheaded bodies

oh, history lessons
don't make anyone happy
at best our children

if we don't let us be tied down
by complicity in injustice
lifelong guilt and shame

if we dare to count on each other
and rise up against tyranny

I despise myself

for everything I can't do --


like other students.

Insatiable angels float
through the park, wearing wings
of fear and a crown that hurts
Their heart is wounded, lonely
and it no longer knows who it dwells in

The trees cannot help them
Pickpockets lurk in the bushes
of hidden love
The alderman sends police
into the night with handcuffs

People are closing up their homes
They hear, see, and speak no evil
An owl in the hollow of a tree
calls the hour of truth
and my eyes start to water

Decaying leaves, wet,

cold, and *****, but a bed --


for shiny chestnuts.

Live! Not dying
like all the sad-eyed people
but like the dog
that dances in the window

Wake up and look
There's sun, there's stars
there's daisies
and it swirls
in your ***

Wake up to a poem
Your blood flows
Spring comes and
there's bread in the oven

I'm not saying anything new
My words are clear
as water, as your soul
The sea falls and rises
but man is cruel

It takes me a lot

of time to properly show --


my inner beauty.

There is a pond in

the forest lake: beautiful --


black ice around it.

Your despair against

my hope, nose to nose, only --


a door in between.

The little ticket

is still there, if it didn't drop --


when I felt for it.

Going for a walk,

mama says: "Mouth shut!", so scared --


that I will get sick.

We've only just left
or I'm already longing to return
My life is an unpredictable journey

always on the same roads
The familiar road stations gleam
at a distance, purer than on the spot:

valleys of love, wonder, and knowledge
which I love to visit, and excitedly
      
leave quickly at the ******
of the bells of the caravan
of my needs
      
I wander between their oases
Only in the void do I find
what my soul yearns for

Back in Amsterdam!

So, why aren't people shining --


here with happiness?!

I know
fathers fail
as the great man

who knows the outside world
with whom you are safe, and
happy when he is proud of you

who takes you with him and shows you
the way in his domain, and step by step
you begin to see that it is different

That doesn't count at first
but suddenly it's over
Then you no longer listen

to your pet name, you fight
scratches in your soul
cracks in the calluses

It bleeds when you scratch it
Until you can breathe freely
and the wounds close

Since I'm old enough

to understand adult jokes --


they're disappointing.

At home on the couch
I crumple the edges
of the puke bag

The old times, the old songs
the excuses for the postponement
of the promised future

are back, back
from not having been away

We're still at home
in Old Man State, our
freedom was a dream

There are no more musicians
and no more beautiful
girls from Ukraine

The iron cold is back, back
from not having been away

She is reticent

and difficult to conquer --


Every day again.

The world keeps turning
no matter whether
we understand
that everything is
connected to us

I watch
from the scenery
gently strumming
tears on my guitar

The floor is *****
There are no residents
Everyone is busy
with other things
and passes by love

I watch
from the scenery
gently strumming
tears on my guitar

I think about it

all day, so actually --


I'm practising hard!

My diligent half

does homework, my dreaming half --


still lingers with her.

I promised again,

in the meantime already --


crossing the threshold.

Why are there people dreaming
of hell, a formless world
with leafless trees, beastly

people, thirsty victims
theatres where the murders are real
and of slogans written in blood?

Why do they fantasise like this
about a better life
about a new beginning?

Why are there people dreaming
of freedom, equality, fraternity
without prelates and politicians?

Why don't they sing
the song of humanity
Why

do they numb themselves
to explode
their pettiness?

The castle ruins

have an imposingly high --


ceiling with real stars.

She looks at the child

with love and understanding --


It grows right away.

I just can't help it,

I lie because of the truth --


It's slipping away.