A sorcerer doesn't

need a wand or other stuff --


Words are sufficient.

It is peaceful here
       but this peace is suspicious
      
       warns the king
       Many inhabitants move
      
       to a palace in the clouds
       of Internet-land or they retreat
      
       to a high tower, sender and receiver
       of their own right, just listen
      
       to the echoes, just listen
       to my disgusting words
      
       Yes, if only someone did listen
       If only someone did listen
      
       unsure
       and loving
      
       back on earth

As serfs of ourselves

we all do long to live free --


for one another.

A steel thinking-frame

may be the toughest of all –


but it rarely fits.

A steel thinking-frame

may be the toughest of all –


but it rarely fits.

The giant that stopped me
was a wall on the bank
of the big river, far
beyond the palaces

where servants like angels
provided a heaven on earth
for princes and princesses and always

there were naked sages before the gate
begging to warn the people
that they shouldn't have any illusions

There was a small hatch in the wall
which opened for an old hand a moment
giving me an ordinary pebble

It was a stone from paradise
on the other side of the wall
It was smooth. What to do with it?

I am just such a stone, polished
by life and in the future
falling to dust, pity us

stones from paradise
on this side of the wall
where the kings suffer in seclusion
from boredom and the trouble
to keep it that way

A stone on a stone

on a stone, that's how I climb --


higher and higher.

A storm is rising,

my peace is disturbed, I have --


to get on with life.

A stranger falls, and

as he falls he is breaking --


in into my life.

A stranger passed by,

we had to watch him: he went –


where we dare not go.

A streak of perfume

across the floor, I am scared --


by the intense smell.

A sultry evening,

with red veil ribbons, the sea –


wild, dancing naked.

A summer lover:

the night is over sooner –


than we go to sleep.

He is late, as usual
It's his car, he decides
when we go home
At least, if he does come

And after the party he will say: 'Come
it was a nice evening, wasn't it?'
but if he absolutely needs to
I'll let him, I'll let him

come until he screams
for mercy - nobody can hear it
The wind will blow, the grass will wave
and I will turn around to sleep

I love him, I know why
and he should be able to do better
I am worth it, and he too
If I only could teach him

As warm spring water

your hand flows over my skin –


I become liquid.

A swelling clamour,

I hear it with my dream-ears --


they're never asleep.

A tangled patchwork,

bits of all kinds of people --


that's how Mumbai was.

At dawn, a sea breeze,

in the evening, a land breeze –


in between: my day.

At home, I am safe,

bút… No, no But, Buts are No's –


At home, I am safe!

A thought is super-

ficial, not so is an act,


an experience.

At last there's a flag,

flapping next to a café --


like a crackling fire.

At most I myself

catch what I mean, with you it's --


misunderstandings.

At night, the houses

with their windows are yawning --


at me everywhere.

At parties he crawled

through the livestock like a child --


sheep among the sheep.

At parties I try

to leave soon, always longing --


for festivity!

A trail in the snow:

the fresh footprints of a fox --


along red spatters.

A travel story

without an experience


is just air – bad breath.

A tree uprooted,

mud, a crack in the rock-ledge –


and clear spring water!

At regular times

a message comes, stating: this --


connection exists.

At school I learned all

sorts of things, especially --


the art of boredom.

I didn't learn
to live, I just
got used to it

and try to be myself
with friends who don't make demands
and are available

when I come or shout
that I'm lonely
but with you it's different

Sometimes I don't know afterwards
whether we were connected
and then I get lost

in my thoughts, so
there is no contact
and I must embrace you

feel the firmness
of your body
to believe in us

At the airport, I

follow the people who know --


where they are going.

At the bench, just before
we get there, he reaches
for the ground

and sits down
but he doesn't seem to know how
he doesn't seem to be well, I wait

A municipal man comes
to see and he calls for help, sirens
My companion is carefully laid down

A woman presses her arms
around me and holds me
caressing me

Others are watching
tirelessly his chest rises
after every push, another push

I'm still not allowed
to go to him, I'm waiting
it can't be right

that he stays down
that he is not on the bench
that he doesn't talk to me

Slowly the bell is ringing
slowly the donkeys move on
under black blankets

The covered coach is high
Up is Up and Down is Down
Crying, we carry the long train
through the circus, we change
hats, unroll the will
and stop for a group portrait

Life goes on, under drum rolls
the coach moves around, faster
and faster, hunted
by the music and salute shots
from the tuba, smoke, and fire everywhere
the fire truck comes in

Champagne and applause
We swing through the serpentines
until the light goes out

Are you an angel, am I a dog?
Are you from heaven and I from hell?
Or are you a dog, my dog?
And will we go to hell together?

Where are you taking me?
Where am I taking you?
Why do you want to love me?
What can I ever give you?

The more you love me
the more I have to
betray your love, tear it apart
like a dog at the gate

The more you believe in me, the more
I'll bite back until your love is dead
at the gates of heaven
or the gates of hell

At the junk dealer

I write, of course, life stories --


of the furniture.

At the reception

I am bouncing everyone --


like silly putty.

At the steering wheel

the child goes Around the World –


in 80 Daydreams.

Politicians are at the top
of language, salesperson
and lawyer in one they
compress the voters' words
with lobbyists and preachers
along the line, it's all

about bluff and the art
of getting stuck every now and then
so that a competitor has to come
and help and inconspicuously
pushed on previous promises
crashes, chokes on them

or at least tears
himself inside
on their blade
You too, Brutus?
It is a full moon
The people are cheering

At three in the night

I have a hot chocolate –


my sweet brown mama.

At times a boat, car,

or delivery, the town --


has been ruralised.

Authorities, act!

Really, I do want to change --


so help me! Force me!

Automatic belts

work without having to switch --


Are they analogue?

Automatic face

recognition: wearing masks --


for your privacy.

Autumn, it's raining

the old dejection again --


of my frightened heart.

Because I feel that
we still love each other
at a distance, I dare

after the tour through the garden
the last honeysuckle smell and
drinking unclarified apple juice

together in the autumn sun
to ask you:
How are we

now, our love
how close are we still
heart to heart?

Would we, living in the same
house, also have gone
different paths?

In what spring will we
receive our children
after this winter?

A very low tone

fills the corners of the hall --


the ***** sings Om.

A violinist

lightly strokes the sheep gut with --


tightly stretched horsehair.

A war is concrete,

but it always starts abstract --


with words, with language.

A waste bag bulging

with plastic is cut open:


the seagull's stomach.