A sorcerer doesn't

need a wand or other stuff --


Words are sufficient.

The psychiatrist

desperately deals hard blows --


to me, to my thoughts.

Living to the full,

always searching for balance --


and finding myself.

That you are smarter

than the facts, you have learned with --


conspiracy thoughts.

The tears of her heart

sizzle in the tamped ashes –


of her loneliness.

The Director stands

in his room like a farmer --


in his own courtyard.

There's the nagging pain

of violence, and worse, of --


chatting about it.

Being in your arms,

I haven't any doubt, I feel --


that I belong there.

My heart skips a beat,

once a flash and forever –


we kiss each other.

Picking a flower

to hear the snap, the flower --


can be thrown away.

Trees along the road

continue to grow as if --


nothing had happened.

The row of medals

divert people's attention --


from his worn-out suit.

At night, the houses

with their windows are yawning --


at me everywhere.

I am still alive,

everything has changed now, all --


at once. Your world too?

The girl with the fan
goes up the bridge
the water reflects
her slender image

The gentlemen peer
casually ahead -
to the girl with the fan
who wants to be wed

The girl with the fan
is silently beckoning
the ruffles rustle
what she is thinking

The gentlemen stare
as they portly squire
their fair-haired wives
in fancy attire

The crickets chirping
their love songs westwards

(The girl is hopping
there to the pastures)

The crickets chirping
amidst the flowers

(The gentlemen are
still walking northwards)

For their family,

dead people are the same size –


as in their lifetime.

I fantasize how

people are, not accepting --


that they're so boring!

Don't infect yourself

with this rotten parasite --


your own memory.

Well, you better hide

your thoughts, others don't have them --


It makes them jealous.

Golden cloaks for sale,

against all evil-thinking --


Of you? Or of me?

When we say goodbye,

my waving hand trembles, but --


father doesn't notice.

He still remembers

so many things from his past --


they'll never wear off.

Everything could be,

tonight, and it cannot be --


It's so sweltering!

This music is so

nice that I play it even --


better than I can!

It is a long wait,

I pull buttons off my shirt –


now I have to sew.

You did, you said: I.

How dare you! What do you think!


That you are something?

For hours they're chasing

each other across the plains:


thundery showers.

Censorship: fancy

is dangerous, so don't write --


about *******.

What I secretly do
but not hidden
      
from myself, the truth
that I do not want to know
      
yet sometimes see
in the questioning eyes
      
of others, surprised
or hurt, on the border
      
of judgment on me
is the truth in the eyes
      
of my conscience that examines me
I sweat, it's a purgatory
      
and as long as it lasts, it is
hell: I am not
      
just myself
but one of the others

That's the drama

Trying to find an

attitude, as attitude --


staying on the side.

From the river, forest everywhere
with yellow knights, turkey tails
and white-bearded trees

Sometimes there is a silence
and I hear the treecreeper
here and there a stone

which is described
on the map of this area
a map that is not a map

but a summary
of intersections, bridges
and solitary trees

Tonight I will rest
in an easy chair
that important invention

after the folding chair, the tilting chair
the swivel chair and the wheelchair
luckily I'm whole inside

not shaken in a coach
with suspension
fit for a rest day

for considerations
about my journey and the world
accepts the outcome

She took her clothes off,

unconcerned whether she might --


want to hide something.

Like dust particles,

that's how our souls are dancing --


Can you see it now?

Daddy was in my bed
long ago, I keep that
in the oval Choclat tin can
with my straw yellow hair
      
from the first time
it was cut by daddy
Mum was in the kitchen
wearing her slippers
      
He waited impatiently
for the porridge and took the scissors
Then, his porridge was too hot
and mum's was too cold

So he moved on
to my plate, creak
my chair broke
Weird but true

my porridge was delicious, just right
just as it should, satisfied
daddy took a nap in my bed
It wasn't too hard and not too soft

just right, just as it should

On her bed she thinks

of budding love, so often --


you read about it.

Each sway turns over

another sway, all night long --


we keep on dancing.

It is summer fair,

I hear it at home, passing --


me turn after turn.

Well, the usurer

was generous, nonetheless --


Was it his money?

My soul searches you,

I fly further and further --


and I do not land.

I'm rowing away

from my love, pulling the oars –


that I have not yet.

Am I unworldly?

What kind of world is it then?


This one, where I am?

I count all my friends

and am left with five fingers --


to shake hands with you!

Boys look past
my shyness
I don't understand

So beautiful I see my feelings
in my face, my forms
in the mirror

Why doesn't anyone
want to enjoy me?
The beauty of a boy

discovered inside and out
by my skin
my curious body

In other people's houses
I capture the beds
in my dreams

None of them invite me
Can they see in me
how critical I am?

I am where I am
and want to be
I drink my mother
and breathe my father
I root in my mother
and grow in my father

I'm in the prime of
the best time of
my life, the spring of
my life, where I am
where the grass is greener
and where I want to stay

At night the sky is dark
when the moon is black
by day the sun often shines
behind the clouds
when it rains I get wet
and then I dry again

So everything stays the same
repeated over and over and
within that security I can change
almost unnoticed
while I am who I am
and who I want to be

For a long minute

great gratitude trickles down --


Heavenly caress.

Too bad, halfway through

my working day I am stuck --


with the word puzzle.

Croaking frogs at night,

a horse running back and forth --


but you can't see it.

For a year I did

what I love to do, not all –


I wanted to do.

Stay, no promises,

just stay, stay with me tonight --


with my lovesickness.

Shreds of promises,

once for sale: advertising


canvas in the weeds.