Any overworld

is a palimpsest over --


a scraped underworld.

I'm happy and look

around with astonishment --


Is there any hold?

I'm trying so hard

nót to conform, otherwise --


I would go crazy.

How do you smell, how softly elastic
is your skin, how will your mouth kiss
my heart on your tongue?

Is there any solid ground
on which I am safe
other than under your feet?

Shall I write to you
about your eyes, that
they have cast me down

and I don't want to
but have no other choice
but to wait for you

your gaze on me
a word to me
the tips of your fingers

of which I dream
and cannot sleep
for fear and longing

even in love
with this stammering
of my happiness

A freethinker thinks

about questions, the answers --


he doesn't want to hear.

My heart is awake,

a beehive crowded with dreams --


bringing me honey.

I love to dance and

fall in love, even if you'll --


fly away from me.

She is reticent

and difficult to conquer --


Every day again.

The abreaction:

enjoying dullness in bed –


without being sick.

She enjoys smoking

between her cats, wonderful:


a silent woman.

Old love: smouldering

fire, or a layer of ice --


quickly freezing on?

Watch out, everyone

is looking at us, our love --


must remain secret.

Will people ever

love the earth, their mother, more --


than all their vices?

We got to know each

other well, talking a lot --


about all the boys.

As long as we can we'll walk
in circles together
the youngest in the outer lane

acquire meters and learn a lot
are handed more and more
sticks stories where we are

heading a finish line
behind which no one needs
to run anymore hand in hand

we will walk on we will
live in peace we will all be
winners no relay race anymore

the youngest in the outer lane
grandma's on the inside bend
close to the black hole

I am crying out

of the depth, deeply wishing --


you love me, do you?

They're hopping around

in the big brown cello box:


the twittering birds.

The large pipe *****

is building up walls of sound --


a castle in air.

You'll live long enough

to celebrate successes --


and suffer failures.

Requesting poet's

muse with good references --


Generous respect.

All my life it is

mysterious that I think --


with all my body.

Go go, I'm going crazy
seeing everything at once

an overall picture from here
and there and from above and the side

the world, my room
the field full of sunflowers

in a vase and another vase
everything patched together

to fictional points of view
that blend into one another

like my brain does
with everything

that the nerves mercilessly
shoot in from my eyes

a collage like a painting
by Vincent van Gogh

I might start jumping in rhymes
and wave on my island
with luring calls 'love me

then I'll do the same'
but it is already happening
because you are coming

and you will kiss me lovelier
then I imagined, you will
be so sweet

like your words, your body
will make me feel who I am
your Honey Love

your honeysuckle do I want to be
I'll give you everything, come
my sunbird, **** me out

And don't let anyone say 'Dear Girl
you have beautiful dreams, you know
surely that flowers will wilt
and winters take a long time'

Well, I may drown
freeze to death overnight
under a tree, just

grow numb or be lucky
and get a place
to sleep in the shelter

under the hundred beds blanket
with a head hole for each
comfortably warm together

But even then, this morning
my neighbour didn't wake up
at the first, second and third gong

Floundering he went up
when the blanket was hoisted
Under the beams he hung still

a skinny body - we watched
and for a half we each fenced
an incense stick

In bed it is nice
lying uncomfortably
feeling myself on all sides

more than one and a half
square meters of skin
exactly fitting

filled with warm feelings
that is me, in the flesh

The stretching
of my back and limbs
may have some cost

of shouting for attention
before they can relax and go
to sleep after the discharge

Drinking cool water

with you after a hot day --


The sun sinks slowly.

Massages with wine

and views of the rebellion --


in a sound landscape.

A lie cannot walk,

it has neither feet nor legs –


you have to bring it.

The trees in winter:

no pigeons, no bullfinches --


the nests breaking down.

Amorousness runs

dry and all your happiness --


slips through your fingers.

A crown on her head

and three candles on the cake –


cream around her smile.

Balloons sail above the sea
and in my mind I sail along
into the world, sailing over
flapping laundry

Our shadows glide
through the gate of the winds
breath of the sun and the moon
the whispering of secrets

Our shadows drift
over the sphinx, so that her
blind eyes seem to blink
at us for a moment

The hands of the clocks
on the towers also stand still
and then they **** forward
a little, around

I live healthily

because I want to be more –


than just my body.

If a door is not a door
but an artistic optical illusion
then I can still appreciate that
but an inheritance of debts
or a romantic wedding night
in 'Paris l'amour' going wrong

are certainly not dreams
I wish to come true
I rather keep up the fairy tales

So I point to a positive side
or I play that it goes well
and nothing is at stake
But is a tree alive when it rustles?

What is truth? Can illusions just be
recognized by the appearance
to be as real as real?

Or even more real, if happiness
is re-enacted in a play, because
loyalty and doubt seem to be
much more authentic on stage
and to render more sense there
than is possible in my own life

He's a loving man,

he will be worthy of me --


when I am ready.

I half-hold her hand,

it's the cautious beginning --


of saying goodbye.

The Golden House, all

golden houses are beliefs --


in an illusion.

Art is a shadow

play of life, both cannot be --


understood deeply.

Not at home. Not there,

nor here. At night I shout it --


over the rooftops.

Underground, my thoughts
collide with him
They tear flames

from his stature, from his voice
They blow fire into his house
put a fire around his wife

A chain of craters
Ash clouds over the world
And me in the Peaceful Centre

of the catastrophes
which must hit his marriage
without harming him

How many aftershocks to go?
How much heat?
How much desire?

Even if I don't

want to, we'll stay together --


but sometimes I leave.

They say it doesn't mean a thing
Because we are just mirrors
who kindly greet in return

But still, the baker knows my name
and the postman is happy
that I'm home

for the parcels
for the neighbours
'Happy New Year'

Looking forward, we keep heart
with good tidings, even though
they say it doesn't mean a thing

that in the rest of the year
calamities will smoke again
crimes and fear, what is normal

will get out of sight
even though you witness it every day
and that we will amuse ourselves again

with the ambulant judge to reinforce
peace with the right, and that is all
it means, they say

I promised again,

in the meantime already --


crossing the threshold.

It is my destiny
to be a female knight
awakened in a dark tomb
my soul draws drops of the deep sea
up from the earth

into a fountain of love
which lifts me to float
to the light

It is my destiny
to be a female knight, young
without blemish on my soul
which hangs within me waiting
for reports of a distress

too bad
to check off unseen
I must take action

It is my destiny
to be a female knight, I intervene
and impetuously turn the odds
with superpowers
of good will

Fish and waterfowl,

swaying algae in the shapes --


of statue remnants.

I ride on the bus,

the day begins, I wake up --


in trusted landscapes.

Any thought to be

a model causes trouble --


It is so priggish.

A sphinx in the desert grabs my feet

.....What is small, soft and weak
.....but stronger than the hardest marble?

.....Do not count on what you have learned
.....do not count on what you think now
.....do not count on what you will know later

.....but surrender to the answer
.....or burn alive in the sun!

The standing heat and my resistance
against this exam dehydrate me

I lick the salt from my lips
fold my hands over my head
until they sting and get exhausted

my sweat evaporates
my skin is bursting
sand fills the slits

I dream of drops
that close me
one by one, slowly

making a way deep
into my fibres, and the sphinx nods
She releases me

.....Here's a roof
.....here's a well
.....take a rest and move on

When my conscience cannot get out
afraid of fainting of myself
I have to settle for laws

the books of emergency dressing
for blood that I don't want to see
for a wound they should have prevented

If necessary, we fight it out
in court or with God
on our side, I have help

of lawyers and soldiers
priests assist me
the loudest word is up to me

If necessary, I will stop the world
until there are new laws
and then I'll start anew

if all goes well

I reach for the glass

but I stop, seeing, watching --


my quivering hand.