A circle of pink

petals spreads around the bush --


fully packed with buds.

In the land you dreamed

for us, I still wait for you --


dead and buried there.

We danced to a new year
in the utopia of the music
and the Golden Oldie
songs of love, longing
and sorrow that live
in our lungs

and emerge unpredictably
all of a sudden from the depths
of our breath
caressing or storming full
of experiences that make us
feel who we are

and what it's all about, seize
the eternity of our lives
in the stream of our breath
which is also the breath of others
while we are completely
engrossed in our presence

Quietly she looks

at me -- a comb through my mind,


waving in her wind.

Hand over my mouth, I laugh
at the evil child
you are, who wants everything
as it should be

a better world
justice, equality
and brotherhood, now!

No longer an ideal
that makes fellow human beings suffer
in order not to lack anything themselves

So immature, not you
your complaint, your desire
for more

more solidarity
more harmony
more self-criticism

I know, the seed
of your gluttony
which wants all that
is your sweet anger

All the elements that we arrange
in the Periodic Table, the very first
bacteria and also we humans
are creators of the universe

In time and space we transform
the energy and co-write
the imperishable facts
on the edges of black holes

That information already existed
as Creator
giving it space and time
with a big bang

It's inconceivably
and inseparably both
energy and information
are aspects of each other

My mind doesn't get that
Even if in deep meditation
my consciousness unites
with all that exists, I am ignorant

In posh clothes she walks

in the street with a coffee --


An efficient life.

A trail in the snow:

the fresh footprints of a fox --


along red spatters.

Come in, I kiss your eyes
I'll show you everything
Take your time, come as often as you like
and you will leave satisfied

Take a bath
in all my colours – soft
like powder brushes they caress
your look

I embrace your attention
with the gold of history
Here everything is
forever young

Unconditionally, I fold myself
to your needs
I give
images you'll never forget

Be surprised, enchanted, thrilled
Come inside and flow
through me
I'm there for you

You have two arms, so

bow them nicely around me --


then it is for you.

From the storm, the flood,

washed ashore in the silence --


of the newborn day.

Chance brought you here
and me, we don't look

too much, unconscious
of the questions in the eyes

the other one sees
We're on the way, talking

or silent, calmly
letting the energy flow

through the gates of desire
to the organs of our happiness

and we forget ourselves,
bathing in peace:

heaven supports the earth
she breathes her seasons

around and around in parties
of life and we are

It stopped working,

it's fake love, not a real hug:


no more alcohol!

I am bored, but the view
of the city at night
is beautiful, still

too hot to sleep or count
the skyscrapers, the stacks
of illuminated windows

My hand waves goodnight
Would anyone be looking at me?
I squint my eyes

to peeping telescopes
then I cast them down again
to read a little, insights

I already had, but can not rhyme
right now, with the world
that keeps me awake

If only I could sleep, dream
of light towers in the desert
without being there myself

The cow looks beyond,

maybe at the evening light --


mirrored in her eye.

So tasty, the smell

of steaming bread, freshly baked --


while I was sleeping.

I have a store full
of old things, it is difficult
to ensure

that they are not sold
to snobs with no idea
of their real value

without the slightest idea
that it cannot be expressed
in their money

only in tax money, annually
to be collected for maintenance
and everything that comes with it

to have the works viewed
by those who are interested
and that can be anyone

which is hard to accept
for barbarians who get rich
from constant replacement

In bed I listen

to the piano playing --


somewhere down the road.

Dozing, I vibrate

along with the world outside --


A leaf in the wind.

She is a goddess,

wearing a long train of boys --


like a Golden Goose.

I never played Hamlet,

I was just the performer --


who was playing him.

Every day I pass

the forest, it's hard to see --


that we're transforming.

I see her peeping --

she looks back to me and then


we are both ashamed.

The vase with flowers,

which I just put outside, look:


full of butterflies.

The evening twilight.

Tipping up, I see the white --


scuts of the rabbits.

In Jerusalem

the sky merges with the trees –


in keppel kippahs.

Why are you afraid?

Does it give you the reward --


of fewer hard hits?

The birch watches me

with a purely divine look --


of generous eyes.

The landscape awakes

in hesitant morning light --


still breathing silence.

I had the most marbles
kept them in a bucket in the attic
Whoppers in all metallic colours
and rare marble ones
Nobody liked to lose from me
so I just played alone

A classmate had an ivory marble
but ivory is forbidden, and I obey
the rules, that's the best game

People have no idea
how it works and what they waste
They say that I'm parsimonious
even with the foreign cents
which I cannot spend, the truth
is I work hard

and lead a sober life, the good example
that would benefit them more
than the inflation of a luxury life

The buzz of the guests

on the patio lets me --


snoop around freely.

Mist, with some shadows

of animals in the side --


of the road, hit, dead.

I like to be soft,

but hard enough to resist --


the worldly hardness.

It is printed now,

as pure art: the sorrow, mine --


everyone's, isn't it?

Her curly hair sings!

And it enchants me, it is --


electrostatic.

A woman with a gun
Driven out. Cast out
by her neighbours

because she was killed internally
and could feel nothing
but pain and disgust

and because they too can
no longer believe who she was
at home, in the paradise

before the arrival of the men
who use you cruelly
until they discard you

and impale the broomstick
grandma's cane, their bayonet
or a bullet in you

The woman with the gun
wants to sleep again, to feel
the warmth of the sun again

She wants to defend
a new paradise, being awake
from the nightmare

of inhumanity
and free herself from the cage
of her broken body

In the hospital

lounge he takes a seat and falls --


asleep exhausted.

My hand wants to know
what I, what they
want, do, and to
understand what is happening

to my body, and what
it has to do with me

My soul also wants to
know in order to know
and to laugh about it
when I think I know something

Laugh relievingly
Think about why

others do what they do
and then, what hold
my hand has
to help

I think ahead
behind my clouds
the sun shines
the sun smiles

Is making love a

new, skimming way to fly up --


without gravity?

The girl keeps wriggling,

at her wrists and her ankles --


tossed into the sea.

Tender is the night

in which you ardently love --


what will elude you.

At last there's a flag,

flapping next to a café --


like a crackling fire.

Your leg on my thigh

provokes me, then you ask me:


This is fun, isn't it?

A romantic kiss;

her first, so her eyes tell me --


dying passively.

A kiss, naked I

stand before you, I'm not me --


I am your lover.

Casting fishing lines

is a slow dance; I'm catching --


peaceful quietness.

Dawn: the world takes on

colours, becomes lifelike, but --


remains elusive.

In the museum, the wind blows
from everywhere to everywhere, like us
visitors from all over the world

We carry a culture web, nourish it
with the collections of the museums
which are larger than their buildings

We carry the art
with us, it is greater than we are
greater than our time and abode

We carry out the art
the history that connects us
and always does continue where it ends

Your cloths are already dry
but I just let them flap
so at least something is happening
in this deserted place

You just sit there watching
taking a dip every now and then
Afterwards you carefully dab
the short hairs on your skull

I liked you better in the bar
although you were bragging
about your house and the beach
all to yourself

You showed your brown chest
I wanted to lie on it
and work on my tan a little
so nice by the sea

No, you are not social
the day is still long
and there is nothing here
to cook a good meal

Being so concerned

with the oppressed everywhere --


just not with colleagues...