A peach blossom branch:

then it's nice to have a chat –


with a nobleman.

A person must learn,

there are no suns anywhere --


that don't cast shadows.

A person who boasts

of a quality, wishes --


to receive it, right?

A photo, I'm six,

in the garden I bury --


a box with secrets.

A photo: I'm six,

in the garden I bury --


a box with secrets.

A photo is truth,

a film too, twenty-four times


the truth, per second.

A plunge in the night,

all I can see is a hat --


on the bridge railing.

A poem he wants

to write about me. Do I –


have to pose for it?

A poem opens

you to the light, it drapes light --


into sounds of words.

A poem: tail tip

of a cat that's already --


around the corner.

A poet fiercely

yearns for a louder silence --


than the other speaks.

A poet who cries

writes concentrated, uses --


his tears as his ink.

A polease is boss

of cycle and motocarr –


holding them with halt.

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

Moor at the orchard
wade through soft grass
and golden-yellow apples
to the pond in the middle
steaming in the evening

Enter the round basin
glide into the warm water
and swim over the bottom
of your primeval-applewise knowing
to the stairs of the tower

From the gallery, read the wind, the well
the flow of time, their ripples, their depths
and the misty shadows from later
which in the outside world
only will be recognizable

when the truth in which you
have bathed, is past
Known once remains known
somewhere in the haze of your
dressed-up consciousness

A quiet goodbye

in bed, with silent kisses --


everlasting seals.

He is sweet, but a man
In order to protect me
he loses

himself in impotence
acting tall
doesn't want to be consolable

on his haunches in the corner
hesitates to change
and ponders about a miracle

from himself, hungrily
the fire beats out of his heart
searching for fuel and glory

seeking balance and afraid
to find it in the ashes
of his desires

A reconstruction:

you get closer and you see --


nothing but vague spots.

Are dissertations

anti-science? Given that --


they're unreadable?

Aren't all romances

a huge explosion of dreams --


and dearest desires?

Are there aliens

inside the clouds? Who is there --


rummaging about?

Are there any saints?

Possibly, they always hide –


like the unicorns.

Are, these days, men's skirts

like kilt, sarong and lungi --


called 'legless clothing'?

A romantic kiss;

her first, so her eyes tell me --


dying passively.

Around the green land

we drive a fence, with a gate --


to future harvests.

Around what centre,

in ever wider circles --


do I fly, blow, sing?

Around your presence,

everything becomes gloomy --


So stay in my eyes!

He jumped up
made a somersault with twist
and is back in the circle again

as if nothing happened
in those four seconds
(I guess)

(how was it?)
a flash of beauty
to meditate on now

falling into place myself
from the space of possibilities
and ignorance

Maybe I stay there
maybe it will shift
maybe it stays

Art is a shadow

play of life, both cannot be --


understood deeply.

Art misleads you to

think you understand something --


and to stop thinking.

In the museum, the wind blows
from everywhere to everywhere, like us
visitors from all over the world

We carry a culture web, nourish it
with the collections of the museums
which are larger than their buildings

We carry the art
with us, it is greater than we are
greater than our time and abode

We carry out the art
the history that connects us
and always does continue where it ends

A rubber bath duck,

croaking in an ***** pipe --


participating.

As a baby, I

had a lot of fun falling --


into daddy's hands.

As a baby, I

had a lot of fun falling --


into daddy's hands.

As a child, I didn't

look for gnomes in the forest –


I looked at the moss.

As a child I felt:

there is a secret in me --


big, for the whole world.

As a child I roamed

the grounds, barefoot through puddles --


and I still do that.

A sand compass rose;

I raise my finger and ask --


what wind is blowing.

As a priest one serves

in the churches in the hell --


of confessionals.

As a reader I

would like to buy with each book --


reading time as well.

A scientist fears

not knowing something, he flees --


into a safe niche.

A shelter is good,

I know, I have to get up –


and plant a tree now.

As if God sees us

like the people on tv --


look blindly at us?

As if my body

is new, and I, again, have --


to search for the brake.

A silvery sky,

dark and quiet the mountains --


as if sound asleep.

Asking for my stick,

and for my glasses, that's it –


my life without you.

A sledgehammer kills,

or it may loosen a thought,


something from the past.

Look, do you see it's me?
Don't mind the poppies
don't mind my skin, my head

without hair, okay, you may
see the earrings, they're winking
to the desirable gold

that you only know *******
tight above unadorned ears
It was only loose at home

I tried lipstick
and became invincible
a robot woman full of energy

The pain does not count, I'm alive
experience after experience
a different person

The pain does count, I like
to live, take all
chances, give

anything for it
as long as it goes, as long
as I can, as long

as my energy flows love

As long as we live,

we're living in the future --


when making choices.

A small hatch opens

in the fog, there's a small hand --


waving a little.