It's our secret bed,

there in the dark, where we live --


dreaming together.

He's gone, I linger

about in our shared past where --


he is still with me.

Among each other

no more fighting, just going --


with the flow, the flood.

The more concretely

you tell a story, the less --


you'll be understood.

Long, long more and more,

for me, for my company --


and for my body.

He is back, being

a foreigner in the land --


he longed for so much.

The fairy tales are

over, since then they just tell --


how it really is.

Sometimes civilised,

refined and choosy, sometimes --


a barbarian.

Evening, I'm alone,

in and outside my cabin --


And it's getting dark.

I must go with it,

and so do you, the stream pulls --


everyone along.

He who doesn't see what

he expects, doesn't see what's there --


is disappointed.

She is without man,

I'd like to do things with her --


but I wouldn't know how.

The pointing finger.

Does it point to my finger?


To my path in life?

War victims: people

who suffer from the sad fact --


that there is still war.

Your husband: rotate

him and look at him closely --


See what he's hiding.

The city reflects

my dream of love: weathered grey --


from all the waiting.

The world we know is

an evolutionary


boundary crossing.

I am shocked by the question
to myself: who will comfort me?
Where are the arms

that rock me happy
and promise me a bright future?
With whom will I be safe?

.....Come on girl, there is more
.....under the sun, it shines
.....look around you, smell
.....the weather, you have your nose

.....your eyes, ears, and mouth
.....and your hands of course
.....not just for the love
.....of a man, of a child

But the world is so big
I want someone
for myself, a home

where I recharge
I want someone
to embrace, four arms

that feel together
that I am a woman
to love

The war means dying

of hunger, inside the cage --


oh, poor canary.

The party goes on

above me, I'm having fun --


with Nino, the cat.

The downpour dances

with the waterfallwater –


the lake overflows.

The little ticket

is still there, if it didn't drop --


when I felt for it.

I know father well,

he is happy to see me --


though he doesn't show it.

Old sore praises it-

self for its best intentions --


Own glory comes first.

The timpani warm

up, gently stirring the voice --


in their big bellies.

In morning twilight,

seen from my window through yours:


the sun going down.

Among the bright stars

our happiness shines for life:


a future of love.

She gives me a kiss

with her sweet mouth of candy


floss sticking to me.

Pulling slowly, I

sing my sensitive skin out --


of the sticky shade.

The old actor has

been playing all grandfathers --


for twenty-five years.

Embittered by dregs

of liquorice, black and white --


speak with a black tongue.

My motions from one

into the other flow like --


the tide while turning.

After the defeat,

his doubts buzz around him like --


a mosquito cloud.

Corpses in the street

look like humans, but fake ones --


more like broken dolls.

Do pretend it is

normal, yes, very normal --


it ís, all of it.

With scraps of paper

I am lighting little lights --


in hearts of readers.

Singing a mantra

together, sounds full of life --


in - out of ourselves.

It is an honour

for me to be there for you --


Until you sell me.

I think of thinkers
who describe other sides
of the old stories
and the new talk

who observe what is there
as new and notice something
other than is accepted and
put that into reality

Precisely this responding
to what is already there
is originality
or the illusion of it

In an earlier time
I would have been such a thinker
but now it is of no use
in the easy lives

of well-to-do citizens, no use
to outcasts, no use
to outsiders, no use
to my heirs

I stay at home, warm

inside myself, not working --


in a cold office.

We have ordered musicians
but can we pay them?
Give them some tea

.....Listen, the trees are falling
.....Lovely, the sound of axes
.....cutting down the orchard

.....The times are changing
.....Play! I want to celebrate!
.....You can leave after that

I don't know, I want to go
Why have we grown so old?
I remember everybody

was happy, without knowing
why, didn't we discuss it
time after time! It is over

We'll die anyway
while life goes on
as if we have never lived

I walk past the night

train, casting a shadow as --


long as a wagon.

The merry-go-round

dances on its wheels, swinging --


around its axis.

The palace houses

parties, madness, betrayal --


Still it does remain.

Dad cheerfully asks

about my boyfriend and soon --


he nags for details.

I have packed my things

and I am very surprised --


that they are so few.

I like to see him,

he is sweet, but he wavers --


quickly shuts the door.

Coming off the tram,

we stand still to watch, the wind --


blows flyers to us.

The free field, the blowing
of my hair, the waving
and flowing of the grass

Only obey myself
No water surface, nothing
shines but your eyes

to make me feel beautiful
I despise seducing
in see-through clothes

I spit on being beautiful
to be counted
I disgust being beautiful

and therefore not be counted
I too walk the world!
I too do a lot of work there!

I too oversee what happens
I too know the people
and I talk wisely with you

I love to dance and

fall in love, even if you'll --


fly away from me.