He sings about me,

about my desperation --


Everyone hears it.

Love does prove itself

in attentively hearing --


of what is not said.

It's raining tonight

on our summer memories --


They are washed away.

Heaven allures us,

a scent of higher honey --


draws us to full height.

My signature then:

who I was, sixteen years old --


with a line through it.

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

We sit in silence,

the silence of our state-room --


echoing silence.

Moon behind branches –

Don't think about it, but look:


moon behind branches.

Life is beautiful,

despite misunderstandings –


and troubles with ***.

Oh, my dear darling,

no theory is correct --


when I comes to you.

Between some remains

and undigested houses:


underground parking.

My wish is that they...

want the same thing as I do:


the best. United.

A good intention

just comes down to self-knowledge --


and being content.

Live an eternal

present, or learn your lessons --


time and time again.

We talk searchingly,

confidentially, as if --


we are weaving dreams.

Each sway turns over

another sway, all night long --


we keep on dancing.

We like each other,

your big nose, my port-wine stain --


are not to be spurned.

Old people stiffen
They eat less and less
That's the beginning

of their end, but I want to go ahead
I crawl and waddle until I can run
and in the meantime I do magic
and grow myself taller

I am impetuous, at least
in the desires that bud
from my soul
regardless of season

There is a hungry growth blazing
in me, I eat to keep on
eating, there is so much
to reach to, I jump

and I eat, I live

The tuba stays here,

I can't play it anymore --


this very last time.

The hour has struck
Immediately we forget the time
and wish each other all the best
and boredom

that blessed can do everything
with the peaceful ticking
of grandma's clock without the hands
of an agenda that calls Action!

New Year, the realization
that time in ourselves never passes
In one body we are years
of experiences that are not closed

but do themselves well
on new discoveries and occasionally
set us thinking
about how it all comes together

He is trying so hard

that he doesn't realise he --


makes no impression.

A group deforms you:

you must conform, be alike --


or will be kept out.

In cities, country-

men speak softly, everywhere --


someone will listen.

Can people still have a discussion with me?
I can confront you
with my falter
That searching, the slow
which I can hardly bear myself?
And what do you think of me?

I'm getting smaller, too small
for everything and everyone
I know, more and more
is falling off my world
Dependent on friends
who need me

So nothing seems to have changed
but it's not like that
not the way it was
not what I was worth
I know too well what it is
to endure the day depressed

It may take a long time
that I'm not there for a while
Lost in unreachable thoughts
until I sound again like
I'm doing better
than I'm telling you

It's only a game,

therefore there are no losers --


only new chances.

In a tangle are

the snowflakes dancing about:


winter mosquitoes.

High above the horses' corral, the sun
Cutting in the deserted streets
Shutters closed
No fighters and no smugglers
no silver diggers, no luck

Only angry eyes that have seen her
Men go around with clubs
they comb out all the houses
That angel has to leave

I pull her inside, next to my pounding heart
she kisses me until it is over, the dog is alert
and licks her hand, mama is working
dad drinks all day

We wait for the night
I will go with her
away from here, this is not my home
it is a grave, a hollow stone
on which my name never will be written

Paradise is paved, everywhere
you can park in front of the door now
Pink walls and plastic flowers:
places where people like to be

Isn't it a shame that only afterwards
you open your eyes for what you had?
Paradise is paved, everywhere
you can park in front of the door now

All trees are saved, come, have a look
in the greenhouses of the museum!
It is not expensive to see them all
and you get bees and butterflies too!

There are greenhouses everywhere, no spots
on the apples, they won't even get brown
But last night the door slammed shut
and my beloved left in a big taxi

Look at the hippo,

then you'll cease to be amazed --


at human beings.

In the city there are many doors
that are open at night
to being awake
experiencing something together
across the threshold
no longer being an outsider

In the city there are many sidewalks
where people stand
and explore distant areas
with flexible words
questions and mental leaps
to become familiar with them

In the city there are many gardens
where children play, birds
whistle and all year round, flowers
attract bees and people
to come and feast
on the nectar of the day

The road has lost us,

we have left it, over there --


it's looking for us.

*** in the morning

is nice, before the duties --


we may for a while.

The farmer has cows,

some poultry with a watchdog --


and holiday guests.

Spring seizes my eye,

I really have to hold on --


pull it into bed.

My poet friends sleep,

it's quiet, I look at them --


eat a banana.

The way he behaves,

imitating me, never --


I would act like that!

You're desirable,

a fridge, ajar and steaming --


The fire leaking out.

It has to be done!

Let's go: into the mirror --


without a blindfold!

Waking up, lightly

balancing between repose --


and my brand new day.

Flat pillar of salt,

my fixed image of mama --


Beloved photo.

She wants to die, locks

herself in, her mother calls --


and then grabs the axe.

Tell me, what do they

know, the nationalists,


of their own country?

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

'Love you too', you say.

It sounds like an echo, like --


something from the past.

God is a nuisance:

He is constantly present –


but always sleeping.

The leaves are fragile,

at the slightest they come off --


caution! breathe softly!

The elderly man

is between living and dead --


famously asleep.

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

Back 'home' after years.

What will I come across there?


Can it still exist?

If once, you could see


me the way I do, then what --


would your face show me?