Patro, patrino.

Mother: the little father --


in Esperanto.

A row of benches

bends along the garden paths --


for the elderly.

Pressure in my chest:

it's happened before, I know --


nothing to worry!

Next spring I'll go back

to see the blossoms, search them --


where I've never been.

Masculinity,

of all men, is just nothing --


of value in love.

Under dictators

it is unpredictable --


what the past will be.

Scratches on his skin:

she attacked me like crazy --


the ****** declares.

I'm a bend, bending

the road to the right and left --


simultaneously.

Here I cross the Rue

Bouzarés, not on the map --


only in my mind.

Other people are

good-looking, me too, sometimes --


In a small photo.

Exhaust fumes don't stink

because now the streets are free --


of the horse droppings.

Among each other

no more fighting, just going --


with the flow, the flood.

Fish and waterfowl,

swaying algae in the shapes --


of statue remnants.

I think my love wish

into the world: please bring me --


you into my arms!

He is dead, and she

writes me from his mobile phone:


You don't have to cry.

Seemingly out of nothing
small sounds of a beginning
are popping and plucking

in the pool of my thoughts

atoms of observation
in the infinite void
of my mind

my universe in the multiverse

intersecting image-
particles that connect
to coherent thoughts

I knead, mix and bend them

until they smile
or I let them burst
for a new beginning

In marriage you

get to know each other more --


than you intended.

The ancient duty
to take care of each other:
taxes came from it
so we had to learn to count

Great fun, we count
paving stones and marbles
the candles on the cake
and the money in our name

We understand the world
and classify everything properly
young and old, poor and rich
(stereotypes that grow with us)

until the numbers become too large
so many repetitions and memories
added up a rich life
that must be celebrated

Now no candles
but everyone is present
whether they want a piece of cake or not
and all children are there

The clock strikes twelve times,

twelve times I hand out grapes, and --


have some left over.

ARTICLE 1
The state consists of a legislative, an executive and a judicial power. The judicial power organizes itself and functions independently of the legislative and executive powers.

ARTICLE 2
The people who are in this country have equal rights and are treated equally in equal cases. The state does not take into account personal aspects such as beliefs, preferences and physical characteristics.

ARTICLE 3
In the event of a violation or alleged violation of article 2, the state investigates the facts and acts in such a way that they are submitted to the judiciary for assessment.

ARTICLE 4
Unequal opportunities are eliminated as much as possible by the legislator, both in current cases and preventively by organising public order in accordance with article 2.

Chaos every day:

the weather, the people, and --


I keep sorting out.

Listlessly I push

myself on the campsite fence --


back and forth again.

It is simple: right

is the side of the hand with --


the thumb on the left.

Eyes that are swimming

behind very thick glasses:


fish under the ice.

As if sweet Eve ate

the apple and handed over --


the core to Adam?

Peace, in a bed
in Amsterdam, kneeling
or with clenched fists

eternally awaited, preserved
in hearts and thoughts
about people who behave
differently than you wish
people who have to take care

of their well-being and can
only dream their visions
cannot realise these even
with combined efforts
The world is too big for that

Close by you can smell the wind
and go along with the seasons
Close by you can, within
the limits of your needs
safely open up to another

They are free, the birds

upon the gown of the state --


free to fly around.

The beams of light are

extinguished by the dense rain --


and there's no hissing.

I lie wide awake,

listening attentively --


to no sounds at all.

Do I want to know

your suffering to get some --


idea what mine is?

I keep weighing up

what is good for me, do I --


want to know or not?

Her glance has wounded

me deeply, it pierced my heart --


oh, arrow of love!

No one cries or yearns

anymore, about love: look --


under Folklore.

'You haven't changed at all!'

He laughs at his compliment --


that is a question.

Each and every love

can run its course, as long as --


there is a channel.

Praying is feeding

yourself with the energy --


that is everywhere.

Our love is over,

however, never forget --


that it has been real.

Every day I look

at the landscape, so unreal --


if one doesn't go there.

When you share my pain

you don't know where it ends, you --


suffer limitless.

I am a tourist

where you still live, where I used --


to be family.

In high-tech sweatshirts

the joggers are running trails --


of expensive scents.

We sing and that's how

we make a very good time --


out of the waiting.

As if everything

revolves around me I see --


people flashing by.

Our cherry orchard

is full of glitter-garlands --


Do the birds party?

A flowering shrub

at the monastery gate:


butterflies greet me.

We're not together,

but write the more lovingly --


'You're so dear to me!'

It is still so new,

I'm disconcerted, sitting --


here waiting for you.

He is here, at home,

wherever he is absent --


though still known by us.

Winter evenings at

home, a faint light from outside --


faint sounds blowing by.

Well, what my age is?

I have many and waver --


Which one shall I choose?