Everything that we

humans can touch is sacred --


Sacred Emptiness.

Her neck, I remember
was a round ivory tower
not too short, not too long

Snow-white skin
Snow White her name
Who would not love her!

Oh, her shoulders, firm
and soft her arms and legs
round ******* and hips

straight back, perfect beauty
Magic mirror on the wall
who is beloved by all?

We all wished to know her
and hear words from her mouth
that bear witness to our existence

If she was only there
then I could hope
to love her someday

First sounds of the day,

and my soul already sings --


along with the world.

She doesn't want to smell

like she does smell now, unwashed --


It's turning men on.

There is something, It

is earthly, I sense it, shreds --


of a mystery.

The earth makes me move,

each day she embraces me --


in another way.

Thousands of slaves of The Saviour run
bent over to a place to sit, belly to buttock
nose in the back, sections full of light pink
shoulders under the violet
shaved crowns

to open the brain
under sun and moon
to the Great Soul
and to gain self-knowledge
from the mirrors around you

the exchangeable bodies that
under the discipline of loneliness
among silent fellow sufferers
no longer can die
from everyday life's dangers

Everywhere you see yourself
among the hard faces
of armed guards
and you cling to
the changing of the light

the rustle of rain and
scents brought by the wind
"He laughs best who laughs last"
But what kind of laugh is that?
A laugh which is not shared...

Closing time, the farewell
almost over, the seats free
the table full, the glasses empty

I have to go, I'm leaving
Don't look at me like that, you
old singers in old frames

It's quiet on the street, I'm going
The moon is shining, we are turning
back to the sun already

The dogs stand
The scent of our love
has evaporated

The sheets are cold
Put an extra blanket
over your memory

I hesitate to

address him, so intensely --


wearily he smiles.

My lawyer comes in

with a very thick folder --


and I lie in it.

You'll find pointlessness

when you search from the outside --


for any purpose.

Seawater gently

rinses the washed grains of sand --


No flood to be seen.

Vibrating around

the bow- and harp-strings: the souls --


of the listeners.

Mosquitoes may drink my blood
I stay here to enjoy myself
the blood of the moon

the fireflies in the garden
and the whooping children
around a campfire somewhere

...Behind, a freight train rumbles past
...Once the hooves of bison pounded there

My dreams are blind and nameless
They **** on the spot
and eat when I'm away

Maybe it would be easier
without them, but when I see them
asleep, everything is fine

...Behind, a freight train rumbles past
...Once the hooves of bison pounded there

Would the alehoof and

creeping-flower wish to flee?


From my weeding hand?

I am just floating

around and almost ready --


to wake up slowly.

After our working day we look
at the Beautiful World, where
duties and rules do not apply
and the Stars can shine

We look up to them
We see that it exists
and that is a comfort, especially
if there is something to gossip about

There may be more
than admiration, entertainment
conveniences and wealth, but
that doesn't buy me anything

Certainly not happiness
if one is not as rich
as the Stars are
made by us

The ordinary

is in slow motion simply --


nothing but beauty.

An automated

answer produces a queue --


Length invisible.

I'll resign, I will

no longer bear and downplay --


what keeps happening!

Slow lava creeps up

on you and it swallows you --


There is nothing left.

The dear family

photo, with a golden edge --


of melancholy.

Those in power no longer torture
a palace guard to rob a garden
from abroad for their lusts

no, nowadays money is enough
the magnetic big money
which always finds servants

Look closely at this painting
the colors are darker, and old
is the paint skin, forever

masterful are the brush strokes
yet this matter is only
just an attachment

for the trade in big names
the derivatives of art
with which profit is spoken

Prosperity fat

cannot escape gravity --


it sags to the grave.

The nights are silent,

the ferries out of service --


everyone in bed.

Yet what does it mean

that you have taken my hands --


in yours just like that?

I was seventeen,

with all my being I longed --


to offer myself.

I pulsate shock waves

of pleasure that start pushing --


tides into the sea.

Trying to find an

attitude, as attitude --


staying on the side.

The evening sun pours

a dayful of deep colours –


into the fish pond.

He caresses her

tenderly in the moonlight --


at least her shadow.

How weird, your trousers!

You really don't care, that's what --


I like about you!

I pity old friends:

the old memories they share --


can be so hurtful.

It is getting dark, we walk away
from the couples, who, just like us
have not seen the sun go down

The picnic baskets are empty
You pack up the peels and I
pretend to look past you

pretend not to attract attention
knowing that
our skin is glowing for more

Your body shines
sculpted tensely
like a Greek god

I brush through your hair
The sea moans under the rocks
Our room is still far away

but I can imagine you
hanging out nicely, kneadable
in the grip of my hand

It is just broken,

but no one said anything --


that is the bad thing.

Think of the office

as a madhouse, then the rest --


is pretty normal.

People's fame only

lasts a short time, that I learned --


from theatre plays.

I am as the phrase

goes, deep in thought, pondering --


just about nothing.

It takes a while
before it will be over
with room for someone else
For now it is too empty

where you have always been
People soon forget that
when we have a chat
and laugh at something small

Your mother is great
She does what she can do
so without a man
You know the drill

the neighbour mows the lawn
He's really old
time and again he asks
where you have gone

But if I had known it beforehand
I would just as well have been in love
just as well be that woman
still in love with you

Who of the great saints

has lived up to all of them:


the Ten Commandments?

She painted her nails:

her toes look like little gnomes --


with scarlet red hats.

If knowledge is off,

there are only wishful dreams --


as moral guidance.

One two, up we go!

Together we do pippop --


perthepop, hooray!

Less manual work,

more machines, does that make us --


more and more happy?

My neighbours make love,

oh, so outrageously cheap --


these thin chamber walls!

In times when you're bored,

you just don't know what to do --


with your vague desires.

When I am with you,

so close that I become you --


I sing myself out.

Everything goes slow,

his walking, his answering --


Always three dots first...

I didn't even live by a river
yet again I stare into the distance

at nothing, at the water
that cannot choose either

where it ends up
over which toxic grounds
and prickly expectations
diluted, frozen or eaten
by a thousand kilometers of sun

Black wings of homesickness
grow on my shoulders

but I know I'm covered
by the lion of my duties

to people like me
who once left somewhere
dreaming, to learn
that there is no way back
to their youth

Vernal cathedral:

wide open are the doorways --


of the tall beech lane.