We have competed

a lot over our fathers –


which of them was worse.

In the evening we dance
free expression, I am
free and safe in the camp

There is only one lock, one man
who has the key, because
who would want to leave?

Come and take a look
through the fence wires
we don't hide anything

Shirking, sneaky
stuff, a ****, everything
is seen and then

the police quickly take you
to the decision square
that has no facades

There are always people passing
by the houses without outside
walls and without back rooms

seeing if you are doing your best
keep on working and are proper
in the picture and in the toilet

The mouths are open,

wide, as if they are screaming:


the leaf ***** in air.

Being there, content,

nobody's burden, that's it –


Saints do live that way.

There is your laundry,

which I will clean, but for whom?


Will someone wear it?

Over there: the Ocean,

inside me another one --


Without Lighthouses.

The sitting room makes

me feel like I have to walk --


in a gliding way.

Don't go to sleep, you

long to love, dare to do it --


and don't go to sleep!

We are beautiful

and special, all of us, it's --


just ordinary.

The woods entangle

me, I want out, I don't want --


to have to sleep here.

Poverty teaches

in supermarkets: you must


kneel -- to the cheapest.

My light will go out,

it couldn't get any darker --


Here I am. Take me.

She took her clothes off,

unconcerned whether she might --


want to hide something.

In the big city,

one person's ceiling is an-


other person's floor.

She explains the world

to me, it is a stinking --


pile of waste and scrap.

Enough is enough
We tie a bow around the old
year and share wishes

"don't think too much
of days to come
because your feet will always stand in the present"

happy to be
with our neighbours
at home where we live

nothing special
everything just
good

enough

There's the nagging pain

of violence, and worse, of --


chatting about it.

I get up and feel

that weather again, the sun --


on those Saturdays!

There's a thin sea drifting
above the sea, I float
everywhere, infinitely
between ancestors
and unborn

The sea kisses and plays
pulls me under water
up in high foams
which splash apart into
my new rainbow wisps

over the sea, from the sea
the bearing sea
engulfing sea
evaporating sea

making depths out
of valleys, creative
darkness, the sea
the full empty sea

Just you, all of you,

and my imagination --


and my hankering.

The world is asking:

Love your neighbour as yourself –


It is the answer.

I feel no worship,

no love or amorousness --


but a blissful fear.

The door slams the light

closed, my eyes slowly begin --


to see in silence.

If only there was

a sea for my stream of tears --


a chest to cry on.

I didn't learn
to live, I just
got used to it

and try to be myself
with friends who don't make demands
and are available

when I come or shout
that I'm lonely
but with you it's different

Sometimes I don't know afterwards
whether we were connected
and then I get lost

in my thoughts, so
there is no contact
and I must embrace you

feel the firmness
of your body
to believe in us

He wanted to romp

with me, that's what he called it --


and I was startled.

Not using the bike

is Zen: wishing to arrive --


where you always are.

Writers do not write

to live, they write in the hope --


of learning to die.

Goats bleat on the roofs,

people wade to the market --


buses blow the horn.

It is nice to dream,

if only you walk with me --


starwalking with me.

Mama is angry, she's letting me
I just should
be big enough
Her mummy time is over

since the divorce
No new beginning yet
I just should
be kind to her

indulge her and help her
until it's getting better
I just should
not mind the voices

that spit at me
with swear words
and cover my thoughts
I just should

listen to her and see
how I get rid of it
Is there anyone
who is not deaf to me?

I just should fix it myself
and if I can do that, mama
you can succeed as well
in being my mama again

That you are smarter

than the facts, you have learned with --


conspiracy thoughts.

Shrubs protect the back door
muscular guards close the bolts
We live concealed in the middle
around the square of the sky

above the well in the courtyard
Sometimes a sparrow hops in my hand
All of us count down the years
We have become a woman

without the permission to be so
for everyone who kneels
before the fire of the earth
burning for the unity

of the country, the bond
of the great men
who knock the code at the back
the men we wash on the bed

in words of praise
We take off our robes
and kneel before the throne
of their hopefully infertile power

Not our statements are

personal, but everything --


that happens to us.

Because I don't have time
I just like to waste the day
unwashed in a bathrobe

Being myself, at home
in my city bunker -
in front of the window
that mirrors on the outside

If you fly past it
you will see sparrows
being chased off the seed
by ducks who then flee

from the gull army
which has hardened its beaks
four times in the gastric acid
of the Duck family

I am safely offside
and what I don't like
I erase from the screen

Am I unworldly?

What kind of world is it then?


This one, where I am?

More and more, we speak picture
language with digital icons of Home
Heart (in the colour of the moment)
Envelope, Clock, Arrow and Bin

but icons of paint and blood travel
with us in their world of gold leaf
as portraits of the life
we like to live

thoughtful and attentive
like a ***** bird
showing its feathers

and not camouflaging itself
in the attire of its neighbours
colleagues or pictograms

Order in the bowl:

little fish at the bottom --


big ones at the top.

Ah, I would like to

educate my enemies --


And my friends as well.

It is the silence

that I notice all night long --


as if I'm dreaming.

Always build a tower
solid and in the middle
make a daily round

along the outposts, you learn
from that, also from the wind
and the farmers, sit down

with the children playing
and listen to what they repeat
from their parents and the neighbours

Occasionally beat the drums
but never dig holes
for the dead of tomorrow

plant flowers every season
around the squares and the cities
as a welcome to the enemy

in your suspicion, and pay attention
because the better you look
the more you see

There is evidence

of what I had and did: signs --


of my existence.

A living statue

bends over, taps my shoulder:


it wants a picture.

I'm not moving straight,

I am a piece of something --


bigger that rotates.

This black hole in time,

the accident, will be filled --


with my memories.

Silvery glaucous

leaves sail away from the trees --


Little crescent moons.

By chance found again:

the butterfly box, the pins --


in circles of dust.

We've only just left
or I'm already longing to return
My life is an unpredictable journey

always on the same roads
The familiar road stations gleam
at a distance, purer than on the spot:

valleys of love, wonder, and knowledge
which I love to visit, and excitedly
      
leave quickly at the ******
of the bells of the caravan
of my needs
      
I wander between their oases
Only in the void do I find
what my soul yearns for

No supermoon nor

a field of flowers, true love --


kisses dreary days.

His beautiful voice!

Could he perhaps be gargling --


honey every day?