Talking and joking,

with you, here, at my home, but --


it's not a visit!

World citizens run around
Busy parasites in the thin crust
of earth

kept at work by her
and digested in her. She sweats decay
from her pores, a delicious smell

healthy to live in, but intoxicating:
some think they are astronauts
on spaceship Earth

They race nearly 800,000 kilometres
per hour along with the sun, spinning
a pirouette at 1,670 kilometres

per hour. Say them goodbye
adieu, whatever that means
wish them a pleasant journey

to heaven
and upon arrival the realization
that they already were there

Life gives me a lot,

and I still have no idea --


who is the giver.

My perspective between the rusty leaves
is a dream house on the edge of the forest
picked up on the way, in the fall

Rich colours in the sun caress
the wooden skin flakes
of Mother Earth

and I am passing by
just a moment
a guest

I don't know how much

longer, but now, I'm with you --


now, I laugh with you.

The hilly country

gives us to drink from its lap --


heavenly nectar.

As long as we can we'll walk
in circles together
the youngest in the outer lane

acquire meters and learn a lot
are handed more and more
sticks stories where we are

heading a finish line
behind which no one needs
to run anymore hand in hand

we will walk on we will
live in peace we will all be
winners no relay race anymore

the youngest in the outer lane
grandma's on the inside bend
close to the black hole

As a baby, I

had a lot of fun falling --


into daddy's hands.

You snooped on my phone
but didn't discover any shame
no naked confessions
you searched in vain

for a double life
exciting intimacies
a corps in a wardrobe, secrets
between the lines

I have breathed in those
old statuses, for you
they are empty, boring rooms
dusty and cobwebbed

Keep them as memories
It doesn't touch me that you were
where you shouldn't be
I'm already somewhere else

The silverfish slips

away after exploring --


the floor, which is cleaned.

The bird-watcher hit

a pole in the meadow and --


now he lies in wait.

As a child I crawled invisibly
away in the lower house
under the veranda
to see the rats
potter among woodlice

I felt big and strong
I pressed my lips together
against the little weak creepy cushions
and let their hard tails
whip my Gulliver body

I liked being their Atlas
under the adult world
upon my shoulders
which I separated from the earth
to keep it as it is

Thousands of slaves of The Saviour run
bent over to a place to sit, belly to buttock
nose in the back, sections full of light pink
shoulders under the violet
shaved crowns

to open the brain
under sun and moon
to the Great Soul
and to gain self-knowledge
from the mirrors around you

the exchangeable bodies that
under the discipline of loneliness
among silent fellow sufferers
no longer can die
from everyday life's dangers

Everywhere you see yourself
among the hard faces
of armed guards
and you cling to
the changing of the light

the rustle of rain and
scents brought by the wind
"He laughs best who laughs last"
But what kind of laugh is that?
A laugh which is not shared...

Dozing, I vibrate

along with the world outside --


A leaf in the wind.

All the elements that we arrange
in the Periodic Table, the very first
bacteria and also we humans
are creators of the universe

In time and space we transform
the energy and co-write
the imperishable facts
on the edges of black holes

That information already existed
as Creator
giving it space and time
with a big bang

It's inconceivably
and inseparably both
energy and information
are aspects of each other

My mind doesn't get that
Even if in deep meditation
my consciousness unites
with all that exists, I am ignorant

Causes and effects,

implicated in something --


like the One and All.

My clothes are heavy, pack animals
with bags full of worries, I have them
washed when I sleep, dried
in the light of the moon, breathe

Water ripples in the dark
of the gorge between the mountains
here and there fireflies
wanting to ***, they dance

in front of me to the bay
the water is still warm
like when I was a child
with mama in the bath

her soft body
the sweet, lukewarm air
that I still can smell
in the light of the moon

I spread my arms and legs
like a peacock
and draw a circle around me
only my body is still here

The bellowing wind,

the seagulls and the surf: noise --


that still calms me down.

When my conscience cannot get out
afraid of fainting of myself
I have to settle for laws

the books of emergency dressing
for blood that I don't want to see
for a wound they should have prevented

If necessary, we fight it out
in court or with God
on our side, I have help

of lawyers and soldiers
priests assist me
the loudest word is up to me

If necessary, I will stop the world
until there are new laws
and then I'll start anew

if all goes well

So, the Minister

of Justice cycles to work:


no privileges.

At home, in the sun, I watch
the news intently, I study the photos
the parabola of a mortar
like a shooting star
and the grey ruins after the impact

There are cameras everywhere
I shiver from everything
I do and don't want to know
but I wouldn't know anything
if I didn't know

I read of people
who woke up and
ran to a cellar
their children crying
in the pale morning light

The wounded crawl over debris
scramble past the charred cars
An ambulance drives away
Daily corpses, daily news
with survivors

with a dry mouth
speechless, pale in the sun
in which I follow the news
with my sharp eyes
my cool heart

Oh dear, my best friends

are already making plans --


to make me happy.

She is a goddess,

wearing a long train of boys --


like a Golden Goose.

Rights never will be

granted, first you must suffer --


and then you'll take them.

I am a thinker:

although, can I think away --


sedimented thoughts?

Attentively
humans have created
problems, throwing one after another
into the empty foreworld

They lacked norms, invented them
and were content with all the virtues
and vices to live from day to day
and also at night

They wanted to control everything
and created gods and leaders
with power, to be cruel
without strife in their hearts

The leaders organized it
with secret police and militia
with torture and contempt
and the people agreed to it

It became evening and morning
the morning of the fourth world
of the taboos and the dreams
of elusiveness and afterlife

Anyone and anything can be dangerous
be careful who and what you touch
also with roommates, neighbours, friends
dear colleagues and nice people

Better keep in touch virtually
just let the machines work together
because for us in the fifth world
it could be fatal

I am not as good

as I can be. I'm afraid --


of God. Pray for me.

Thinking of diseases
I cannot prevent them
not all, but most
just by thinking of them

I leave others in their healthy delusion
just not to linger over diseases
because there are so many

dangers that it is a miracle

to grow old
you don't have eyes everywhere
you don't always have hands
resources and time available

you don't even control

yourself, you only have gratitude
when life is better than expected
and you realize what is most important

I jump out of bed,


the eiderdown around me --



What sound did I hear?

Let me my habits
Let me, let me inside
Give me a shelter
Give me a kiss

.....Take me
.....Protect me
.....Give me your magic
.....Give me what I need

Then I'll give you my blood
I will pump it outwards
I will blood on your belly
I will blood in your mouth

.....Danger is everywhere
.....just a blow away
.....Love is everywhere
.....just a kiss away

Happiness is elusive
The pie turns around
Happiness is elusively
nearby

.....Let me bleed
.....in your storm
.....Let me bleed
.....in your heart

The mosquito smells


blood, she can sting gently, but --



not fly silently.

I want to go there or see a movie
about it: the steppes

the jungle, the Himalayas
I want to shine my light
in trenches, I want to know

everything, made manageable
so that the whole world becomes mine
and I become a true citizen of the world, no
I want more, be a cosmo citizen

between spirits, angels and gods
exist forever, I want to experience

space adventures, but near
home, because I already am so tiny
a minor matter, a speck on mountain

or sea, interchangeable in the crowd
I don't want to relativise away
my efforts, not to be completely
invisible in universe and time

I do what I can

and the rest is what it is --


really, that is all.

You would close your eyes
in the cinema if you dared

to think it is worse
in real life, the horror

everywhere and always, that
people are scared, see

monsters in humans

and conspiracies, offenders
that the police do not catch

For family and friends
God and country, your honour

you have to fix it yourself -
teach lessons to those who do not

participate, they must think
the worst things

until they defecate farmia
and finally no longer

are able to beg
that they may die

Something's happening,

more and more people pass on --


what they do not know.

Those in power no longer torture
a palace guard to rob a garden
from abroad for their lusts

no, nowadays money is enough
the magnetic big money
which always finds servants

Look closely at this painting
the colors are darker, and old
is the paint skin, forever

masterful are the brush strokes
yet this matter is only
just an attachment

for the trade in big names
the derivatives of art
with which profit is spoken

Spotlights, reflected

off the gold celebrity:


image on image.

Borders in our heads
where it becomes unsafe
and we are on our guard

against those who come in
with a mouth full
of questions and criticism

who keep a low profile
as good neighbours
with democratic rights

to undermine government
whereby they change colour
until they feel strong enough

to blow up differences
and to welcome others'
losses as gains

until there are no more borders
just gaps and stinking fistulas
with internal bleeding

The big red monster,

bloodied heads, loose arms and legs:


the war knocks about.

A woman with a gun
Driven out. Cast out
by her neighbours

because she was killed internally
and could feel nothing
but pain and disgust

and because they too can
no longer believe who she was
at home, in the paradise

before the arrival of the men
who use you cruelly
until they discard you

and impale the broomstick
grandma's cane, their bayonet
or a bullet in you

The woman with the gun
wants to sleep again, to feel
the warmth of the sun again

She wants to defend
a new paradise, being awake
from the nightmare

of inhumanity
and free herself from the cage
of her broken body

The gull does not flee

from their stench, no, it attacks --


them: the garbage bags.

There are tents with tubs
and tents with mattresses
for the girls and women

in the middle of the camp
behind the front
where they are buried alive

Buried who they were
Wishing to die
from the pain, out of the hell

of unknown soldiers
who are honoured, for
what they do does not happen

Because it's not allowed, so
they will get the flowers
which are not at the camp

that tomb
of the human dignity
of the snatched women

A trail in the snow:

the fresh footprints of a fox --


along red spatters.

Quietly she looks

at me -- a comb through my mind,


waving in her wind.

We are the winners,

all we don't know is listed --


in our manual.

Everything is a continuation
of days gone by
which we can dream
as a hold in our lives

Boulders and push moraines
eternal snow, powerful rivers
migrating birds and giants of the forest
the earth born from stars

.....It is so much larger
.....than the tiny dream worlds
.....that divert our attention
.....as a hoped hold in our lives

.....But the stories of arts
.....science and politics
.....that divide us into differences
.....are too small to unite us

Emperors on their

pedestals look over me --


into an old time.

With wide arms I listen
With hands full of green ears
Polyphonic whispers of fluff
Fine traces of sound
on the bench

A woman and her daughter
look around, the girl stares
and says with wobbling legs

I'll be a mum just like you
with a daddy and a child
who thinks this is the most beautiful place
of all, the whole world, the universe

*

The girl plays with a ball
pulls a flake of my bark
asks: is your name scratched in it?
What is he old, isn't he, triple thick I think
and those lumps, would he be sick?

Her mother laughs and takes the picture
she wished to have had of herself:
the girl, and I incognito

not as wise, not as full
high and wide
of past as I am now
and smaller than what I know

of all the people
who caressed me
of all the wishes
they shared with me

Great, swimming at night,

alone in the silent lake --


black trees around me.

The road makes a loop,

men with bikes are peering how --


everything comes back.