Between star and night,

between black skin and white skin --


our fire is burning.

I want to forget,

absolutely not forget --


to forget something.

When I dance, I am


an exhibitionist, yes --



with all my clothes on.

The birds fly with me

in the same direction, if --


I look short enough.

The fire is blazing,

so are the stories we tell --


setting us aglow.

We were here before;

then, like blind people, we didn't --


notice each other.

I lived happily,

comfortably in the blue --


big egg of heaven.

We can indeed laugh

at ourselves, the two of us --


if nobody knows.

Yet his pessimism

does cheer us up in some way --


it's quite laughable!

Receiving distant

sounds with giant ears, I get --


smaller and smaller.

Beyond the ideas

of we and they is a field --


where I wait for you.

One day you will learn

everything you pursued was --


never possible.

There's little time for

love and affection, people --


have to work and die.

She's looking outside,

but still, does she see the view --


our beautiful view?

The magic sword can't

be pulled free by focusing --


on the mossy stone.

It did not happen,

you cannot remember that!


I was not like that!

The sun goes down and

comes up again, endlessly --


I lived, as a child.

I play this ballad

every day, it's the tuning --


fork of my spirit.

Indescribable,

it's so beautiful here, al-


most beyond my grasp.

New Year, once again

things remain the same as I --


experienced them.

Travel like a tree,

as if I'm always at home --


The world's coming past.

Young people are poor thinkers
You must first feed them

on the fruits of that one
special tree of knowledge

of what is useful and detrimental
before they know anything

and once they get that
they understand

that it is the way it has to be
if one doesn't want to remain a paradise child

for whom everything must be ready
in a world without dangers

What is detrimental to that, is good
for humanity, although it is a pity

that many adults do not continue to eat
the fruits of that tree

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

I'm just pretending

when I go to sleep again --


as if you are there.

In the maze city

people bounce around, always --


they will meet again.

I like to do it

in the spotlight. Do you think --


I'm looking at you?

Where the white land is green and young
but the songs still mourn

for generations gone
in the mists of waiting

on the mountains across
where life is hard and old

where the fireplaces always burn
marmots raise their noses

by the elderly sitting there
picnicking and painting

the creeping broom and the round table
beyond the camomile fields

on the mound behind the heather walls
and the fern hedges in the narrowdale

that still are waving there on the helmets
of drowned iron soldiers

I muse about life and I eat
chocolate at the camel river

Today no mists on the hill
where once stood the Lion Fort

Going for a walk,

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


that I will get sick.

Wherever I stay,

the trees from home keep growing --


growing in my heart.

Dad doesn't say who is

the most beautiful woman:


Your mother of course!

The majority

will want to live frugally --


when it is too late.

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

It is code language,

cipher: Zjellwe zjoh zjouvezj?


Shall we go to bed?

There are still places,

as usual, in the seats --


next to the bosses.

Who are you, you elusive
mermaid in my story
of desire and boredom?

My story, my story
of shipwreck and beach
beach, beach, pebble beach

Washed ashore, thirsty
and shivering of exhaustion
awakened by the hot sun

Beach, beach, pebble beach
washed ashore, delirious
from hunger and alone
all alone with you

dancing in the waves of the sea
the sea, the sea, the waving sea
and my story, only my story

is sailing past this beach
beach, beach, pebble beach
mama, mama, grandma

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
Thursday, Friday, I'm doing my best
come soon, soon, don't leave me alone

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

Please be sensible!

If all the girls are gorgeous,


let someone else drive.

In the dark night sky

the river sings over stones --


its bittersweet song.

Come on, wave your love,

overflow me with your tide --


Don't ebb off from me.

The actor knows what

it's all about: pretending --


you're really human.

My heart is not smiling
my eyes are watchful
I am a chameleon

From my cave, I crawl
cautiously through my life
wet when it rains

arid when the sun burns
shy under the leaves
when the masters go by

who don't want to see me
their eyes don't smile
it is a game

that doesn't make me happy
I dream chameleon dreams
of a smooth, uniform skin

that can always be the same
I dream of shedding my skin
that way for once, like a snake

Our conversations

are silent conversations --


There is no anger.

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

A downpour, open

the door, then we all watch it --


not saying a word.

Very puzzling is

the miscellaneous news:


Hów did it happen?

Friends have the power

of repeating together --


what they are good at.

Birthday: the sweetest


I have goes, with the sweetest --



I had, my darlings.

Life gives me a lot,

and I still have no idea --


who is the giver.

Farewell, I just wave

my empty hands a little --


to get rid of it.

Everything is Weight

and Counterweight: it's Fate and --


the Wheel of Fortune.