The guests run away,

the staff is left with the feast --


left with the rumours.

An automatic

door for everything that moves --


is closed still open.

The people here
are not quite grown up
They live past inconveniences

So I'm gonna settle it
Like a parent for their own good
Comment is all in the game

I don't mind, we have to move on
Who does not act, is manipulated
and my own preferences
don't appear out of the blue
I have experience

I chip and wipe away the chips
I am a doer, a maker
No expensive gestures
no desperate remedies
to reassure desperate patients

I know what I'm doing, there are goals
to achieve and worlds to win
with ambition

the seed of my misdeeds
my taunted pride
to want to achieve something

It's normal to wish

to be special, do you think --


you are that common?

Happiness: the joy

of the quiet awareness --


of your existence.

I passed my parents
from much younger to one and a half
times older than they, more serious
I became, a grandmother I became

Experience, recognizing
my life in friends
seeing it again
in the children and grandchildren

Sticking together
our bodies familiar
with defects, pain
and messy memories

And now I want to leave
away from the timeless artificial light
of the hospital, slip away
dreamily in your memories

The broiling summer

undresses the girls, all those --


beautiful giraffes.

My heart is racing,

it spins like a wheel, craving --


to roll unto you.

The single greatest

economic power is --


bribeandcorruption.

Forgive me, I won't

demand so much anymore --


and then receive more.

Again no message

in a bottle, no true love --


beginning for me.

Beware, your body

is a prey for the devil --


He makes you hungry.

A downpour: people

run to the ice-cream parlour --


to lick waiting time.

I'm searching the book

you gave: you are everywhere --


you're so deceptive!

Climb up the ladder

and look next to you, a snake --


is waiting for you!

She sweeps up the shards

and she doesn't recognise them:


the shards of a man.

Shoulders to shoulders,

the flower bursts open, spurts --


away in snap-weeds.

I feel so at home

in the world, with the tomcat --


curled up on my bed.

You say: attention
is the most loving thing
you can give

I answer: carefreeness
is the most loving thing
you can have

It often eludes me
Then I lie awake
because I can't do anything

as long as there are no certainties
no current measurements and slices
for relief or a new plan

I want to try everything
to gain time
exhaust all my strength

adapt
and save who I am
what I'm worth

my head full of purplish blue fragrance
which turns my feelings blue
Blue Bluish blue

My attention, where

does it go, what do I want --


to see of the world?

What is home, everyone knows
from experience or lack
or both, as I do

And still
I know what I missed
when I think about it

Not often, at last
I got my home
And still

I am the saviour, the angel
I have practised to be
from childhood

I hesitate at the old Christmas card
with me as a little angel, back then
when I got a cat as a present

Stars on my white dress
gilt-edged wings
and a halo

But unable
to definitely redeem
my family, their desires

Wounded, I crashed
bipolar between heaven and earth
between love and failure

I am lost, so what

can I say? Nothing other --


than that I don't mind.

There's a strange hand with

pointing fingers on my thigh --


and it excites me.

I really love you,

but what you expect from me --


I can't bear no more.

I really need to

go outside and get some air --


I need the silence.

He drove me to the sea
I make small steps
barefoot

Barefoot steps in the cold
sand, I do my best
I don't lie down

The toes of my feet
comes towards me
Next to his steps

We have done this
before, nothing wrong
The wind was always blowing

salt into my hair
foam into my words
playing hide and seek

inside my head, and the seagulls
squawk shrilly through it
I get lost in language

differences and bad
connections, and still
he does not notice

Well, I used to cry,

but I stopped, because no one --


cared, no one at all.

After the garden

party: deflated balloons --


Colourful cherries.

Also worlds that we don't have
and have not even experienced
we can cherish, skaters
on the canals of the eleven cities
and those of Amsterdam

We know it from photos and
paintings, fashion from grandma's time
pharaohs, Indians and dinosaurs
the splendour of microorganisms
and the blue ice of glaciers

where cows now graze, the love
on the faces of strangers
which I look at again and again
or a drawing of a little trip
with the three of us on a bicycle

We save it all
somewhere inside us, in the world
which we built ourselves and
where we feel more at home
than wherever

You put on some thin

farewell words, with a vague smile --


you left shivering.

Every day we are

celebrating without frills --


just being grateful.

High in the mountains

there is plenty of heaven --


to make you happy.

Visitors give me,

as a sick person, knowledge --


of human nature.

Writing from the heart

is tricky, spontaneous --


words can be faulty.

Plenty of nice sweet men
but not with me, too little
is enjoyed

my body, I want to
surrender
to tough desire

romp with it, smell him
when I wake up
in the warmth of two

fitting bodies
in my bed, in my bed
in my longing

for stubble and hands
pushes in my skin
power in my flesh

glowing caresses
from a man who feels
who I am

Looking at the tree:

can I climb that high, up there --


where the kite is stuck?

On vacation it is different
Then you are the man
I saw in you

then we do everything together
then we look together
viewed as together -

the outside of it
our two bodies
which are curiously scanned

through our clothes
We see it happen
and we see ourselves

as desirable persons
with ****** skin and lips
that laugh and whisper sweetly

I imagine it while
I wait for the kettle
Let's go on vacation

It makes me lonely

that no one sees how serious --


things are for me now.

Sand lays a ribbon

of rolling shapes covering --


the edge of the land.

This caterwauling

night after night, good heavens --


it is spring again!

You more or less know

what kind of day it will be --


Now you colour it.

A saint made of stone
has broken his neck
embraced by a boy

His head is in the middle
of the parvis, between the ribbons
red-white like the ambulance

for the wanton tourist
who wanted to present himself
with a unique background

without a notion of art
or an eye for the craftsmanship
of Bernardo Falconi

let alone some sense
of the religious meaning
of Sebastian's martyrdom

but attracted
by the divine beauty
of his naked body

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

If your ambition

listens to wise words, then you --


only hear yourself.

Eyes pass me with a greeting
eyes hang still in the streets
and shopping lanes, eyes fly

around the earth
eyes are watching
around important bodies

alert eyes
that protect, willing
to restrict others

I defend myself
and ward them off
with the hand on my heart

an eye for an eye
beware, I look back
even when I'm not looking

I wake up. But hey!

How many hours did I sleep? --


Where am I? And when?

Father is the black

next to the red smouldering --


of the cigar tip.

The businesses closed,

quiet in the streets, and yet --


crowded in the parks.

I remember one

evening, and so many more --


of those there have been...

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!