Visitors give me,

as a sick person, knowledge --


of human nature.

One day you will learn

everything you pursued was --


never possible.

I am weightless, rocked,

embedded in the warm moon --


of your body curve.

Are dissertations

anti-science? Given that --


they're unreadable?

Father is buried,

there is more light now, the sky --


is so much wider.

I don't stay on the side
I like to go together, get to know
people, have confidence, share
share my life, I look
for contact and butter up
anyone who can help me

It's you who I lure closer, who I lead
to chinks which I smooth
with butter honey, slowly
I pull you through
your shirt against me
to feel that you are there

You want to, but also you don't
so you get hot and take
the shirt off from the top
(I always take the bottom)
Half naked you run away
from your expectations

She's looking outside,

but still, does she see the view --


our beautiful view?

Miss Pinch holds the word

Women like a mouse away --


from her, by its tail.

The music of Bach

is grief comforting people --


with touching beauty.

My body welcomes

many guests, it is a home --


for thoughts and feelings.

For half an hour already
Mimi is purring in my lap

on the toilet
where I am stroking her
because of the lightning

No fear for her
I am a good person
I know that myself

my side is the right side
of the line under the door
the blue light

of the bolts
and the rumbling thunder
the sword of Michael

that separates evil
from good in a time
we all know

as our own time

What a strange office!

Still, it turned out that I stayed:


I got used to it.

The air roars and shakes:

Move, move! I hide myself, half --


behind the window.

There are lots of stones

in my own cemetery --


heavy on my thoughts.

You're desirable,

a fridge, ajar and steaming --


The fire leaking out.

Why aren't there angels

keeping watch, not even here --


in Los Angeles?

I watched secretly,

my grandpa was dead, he screamed:


three gold teeth pulled out.

Love does prove itself

in attentively hearing --


of what is not said.

The past heroes rest

in the dilapidated --


inn that the world is.

The storm sweeps away

everything, there is nothing --


just a shoreless sea.

Taking a deep breath:

there is space, calm, sometimes joy --


It's the real nectar.

We are in danger,

yet we rather behave deaf --


Blasting lights. On. Off.

My nose in the cat,

the fur smells lovely, like a --


freshly steamed blanket.

My darling is gone
the earth pushes tidal
tears up through the sand

sails in the east
round me, signs
upon them, I walk

for miles
to spartina and seepweed
and fro to the beacon

build a stone tower there
break stone for stone
read word for word, listen

and build writing and
singing sentence for sentence
our love again

Emperors on their

pedestals look over me --


into an old time.

Naivety with

large lots of lead in a barn –


that makes a goldmine!

The poet dreams romantic
of unearthly beautiful women
and he mocks the ordinary people

He's bluffing he will reveal
the women's secret
their fondest heart's desire

In the end he promises
loyalty to an old woman
whose words laugh at him

"Women want to be the boss
of their husband and their lover
not allow them a life of their own"

like in the land of Meagrebeast
where this truth is lied
by women who are jealous

and who defend their husbands
so they don't have to go to bed
with their wrong

Disabled people

evolve, as human beings --


they become braver.

More and more colours join the flag
until the whole spectrum shines like a sun
a beacon
on the troubled journey

It's just a flag
nonviolent communication
in the wind
a silent look

The pole a magic wand
a seeress, beacon
of patience
made of the right stuff

Oak and elder, willow, fig and fir
the trees of Mother Earth
beech and birch, cedar, cypress
so many more than elm and ash

A healing staff
with a robe to wear
in the colours of our soul
all colours of light

My poet friends sleep,

it's quiet, I look at them --


eat a banana.

Is it a secret,

that I might have one, and I –


therefore don't know it?

In the maze city

people bounce around, always --


they will meet again.

Don't trust him! He's nuts,

he even confuses Kant --


with Schopenhauer!

We are the winners,

all we don't know is listed --


in our manual.

Come on, wave your love,

overflow me with your tide --


Don't ebb off from me.

I certainly would

do anything for love, but --


I just don't do it.

The poets return

through the former slave gate, with --


liberated words.

The longer you live,

the less you care about it --


what you think of it.

None of those present

gets ever interrupted --


when they're all talking.

I was well prepared,

but when you came, it melted --


in my happiness.

It's a tradition, an old superstition
the night is hot
we'll go and do it
as soon as everyone is asleep
we sneak out of the house

leaving our husbands
as to take a ***

It is not far to the rock
with the flat stripe of white
In the light of the moon
we *** indeed
with laughter

while ******* for the picture
because we want to have proof

We slide our **** warm
over the pale stripe in the middle
of the Chilchliflue. Landed
in the grass, we feel
with each other

for the beginning
of a baby in our belly

In cities, country-

men speak softly, everywhere --


someone will listen.

We pile up power

and build the tallest tower --


Then it collapses.

A good intention

just comes down to self-knowledge --


and being content.

Awkwardly he holds

my hand, just like in photos --


from the olden times.

If once, you could see


me the way I do, then what --


would your face show me?

The castle ruins

have an imposingly high --


ceiling with real stars.

I enjoy writing

tear-off calendar poems --


The same every year.

The speech is followed

by silent applause, the hands --


just raise the glasses.

*** in the morning

is nice, before the duties --


we may for a while.