A girl passed by, the sound I heard
was fast and flashy like a bird's
A shining flower in her hair
a new song dancing in the air

Perhaps her very heart could twine
on me and then unite with mine
And coming in my depths of night
her glance would put me in the light!

But too outdated is my head...
Farewell, sweet ray that shines on me
your perfume, youth, the harmony...
This happiness had to pass. It fled!

Evening twilight lays

intimacy in the world --


tenderness in me.

There's a thunderstorm,

lightning above me, rumbling --


deep beneath my feet.

It's the old story:
Everything Becomes New
Everything Becomes Young, so cruel
is the beauty of life

which sacrifices adults
to their fault
their most grievous fault
of ageing

They still can stay, wise
and competent or not
if they give up their place
earlier than they are ready

Maybe they will then understand
that they also have jockeyed for
position in the past, and even worse
that nobody has benefited from it

so that sacrifices to youth do not exist
There are only real needs to sacrifice
the wasting ego to, and let's hope
there will be hospitable compassion

On the peak I dream

of La Vie Parisienne --


in Tijuana.

Via Via I do approximately know who I am
someone among all the people

who keep the city alive
and show me my soul
We feed each other, therefore eat
each other as one body
mankind, hungering to live
approximately knowing who we are
among each other and the rest
on our long way
up, down
and around

The goals I had, lost
and not missed, lost
in ubuntu

Saturday: bags-day.

Groceries, sport, and ******* --


The day of unrest.

You put on some thin

farewell words, with a vague smile --


you left shivering.

Storm, I am awake

and I hear the stars stamping --


in the night stables.

I really love you,

but what you expect from me --


I can't bear no more.

High in the mountains:

the silence, the absence, most --


of all of myself.

After a few years,

his love is dull, his smell not --


pleasant anymore.

Again no message

in a bottle, no true love --


beginning for me.

I don't join in, I

don't live like the others do --


I don't live, they think.

The warm baths around
the eternal flame and the holy
water of the source
are a mystery
in which I am at home

My desire jumps
from man to man
spring after spring after every rest
- thirteen weeks a year
  to learn to understand everything -

To whom shall I give me
shall I give the chance
to impregnate me?
- 500 times the summer fire
  flaring up in my body -

Tired, confused, not knowing
what is going on inside me
I'm floating in the autumn bath
- it puts me together again
  into a calm woman -

But in the spring, the spring
I step forward reborn
as a fatal woman
- young again and again
  always a ****** -

The lightning dances

yellowly on the ridges --


It's an event here.

The broiling summer

undresses the girls, all those --


beautiful giraffes.

At regular times

a message comes, stating: this --


connection exists.

No minor issue can be made
of the stinking discomfort
my body has become
because of the remix with pills
trying out
better versions of me

With a mouthful of Latin
the doctor lets everyone
speechless with bated breath
in the danger zone
of my sweat and gases
have a look

into the cold beak
between my legs
There I lie
thinking of the cloud
of friends around my bed
in which I relieve my soul

A downpour: people

run to the ice-cream parlour --


to lick waiting time.

The minister has

a large first-aid kit with him --


He knows the devil.

Well, I used to cry,

but I stopped, because no one --


cared, no one at all.

I feel so at home

in the world, with the tomcat --


curled up on my bed.

Also worlds that we don't have
and have not even experienced
we can cherish, skaters
on the canals of the eleven cities
and those of Amsterdam

We know it from photos and
paintings, fashion from grandma's time
pharaohs, Indians and dinosaurs
the splendour of microorganisms
and the blue ice of glaciers

where cows now graze, the love
on the faces of strangers
which I look at again and again
or a drawing of a little trip
with the three of us on a bicycle

We save it all
somewhere inside us, in the world
which we built ourselves and
where we feel more at home
than wherever

The businesses closed,

quiet in the streets, and yet --


crowded in the parks.

Step aside! Don't speak

of what you don't understand --


This road is our road!

You say: attention
is the most loving thing
you can give

I answer: carefreeness
is the most loving thing
you can have

It often eludes me
Then I lie awake
because I can't do anything

as long as there are no certainties
no current measurements and slices
for relief or a new plan

I want to try everything
to gain time
exhaust all my strength

adapt
and save who I am
what I'm worth

my head full of purplish blue fragrance
which turns my feelings blue
Blue Bluish blue

You are beautiful,

taste it! It is on my tongue --


it's kissing your lips.

Chapel in the woods:

inside, the flames are flaring --


autumnal silence.

The news, every day:

fires are burning in the streets --


right out of the hearts.

This caterwauling

night after night, good heavens --


it is spring again!

The dying man gets

married, the ring binds his name --


to the newborn child.

After the **** breach,

somewhere in the water, still --


a howling siren.

The grand narratives

didn't really happen that way --


they are lies, true lies.

Happiness: the joy

of the quiet awareness --


of your existence.

Plenty of nice sweet men
but not with me, too little
is enjoyed

my body, I want to
surrender
to tough desire

romp with it, smell him
when I wake up
in the warmth of two

fitting bodies
in my bed, in my bed
in my longing

for stubble and hands
pushes in my skin
power in my flesh

glowing caresses
from a man who feels
who I am

Small rings in her ears

are festive, and big earrings --


even more festive.

On vacation it is different
Then you are the man
I saw in you

then we do everything together
then we look together
viewed as together -

the outside of it
our two bodies
which are curiously scanned

through our clothes
We see it happen
and we see ourselves

as desirable persons
with ****** skin and lips
that laugh and whisper sweetly

I imagine it while
I wait for the kettle
Let's go on vacation

A saint made of stone
has broken his neck
embraced by a boy

His head is in the middle
of the parvis, between the ribbons
red-white like the ambulance

for the wanton tourist
who wanted to present himself
with a unique background

without a notion of art
or an eye for the craftsmanship
of Bernardo Falconi

let alone some sense
of the religious meaning
of Sebastian's martyrdom

but attracted
by the divine beauty
of his naked body

After my education is the party
Everyone at table, now
we are going into the world
solve the problems
There's nothing better

We can do it
We are entitled to it
Everything is possible
Who does what?
Who has a plan?

.....We didn't agree
.....and that was against us
.....The deal is off
.....No happiness for all people
.....Mission Failed

.....A hard lesson
.....to be more or all the less
.....realistic
.....or both, if you can be young
.....and old at the same time

That light over there,

the outer side of the black --


that is the future.

The fire is blazing,

so are the stories we tell --


setting us aglow.

Darling, I don't want

to conquer you, but to be --


absorbed in your fire.

Travelling isn't fun,

I struggle to go, hoping --


to arrive quickly.

I have walked for hours

and I didn't see anyone --


yet there is a path.

It makes me lonely

that no one sees how serious --


things are for me now.

Back in the Garden

of Love, I walk around lost --


among gravestones.

After the garden

party: deflated balloons --


Colourful cherries.

I want to forget,

absolutely not forget --


to forget something.

Writing from the heart

is tricky, spontaneous --


words can be faulty.