The dog runs in, slips

on the linoleum floor --


and sniffs at my chair.

The dogs are running

to the northern lights, watch out!


Don't eat yellow snow!

The dogs romp about,


their masters prefer to look --


any other way.

The dogs run around

the ball and the barbecues:


too much happiness!

The dog steps backwards,

presses her chin on the earth --


and looks at the sun.

The door slams the light

closed, my eyes slowly begin --


to see in silence.

The down comforter

is thin, few feathers, sticking --


out, scratching, pricking.

The downpour dances

with the waterfallwater –


the lake overflows.

What I secretly do
but not hidden
      
from myself, the truth
that I do not want to know
      
yet sometimes see
in the questioning eyes
      
of others, surprised
or hurt, on the border
      
of judgment on me
is the truth in the eyes
      
of my conscience that examines me
I sweat, it's a purgatory
      
and as long as it lasts, it is
hell: I am not
      
just myself
but one of the others

That's the drama

The dying man gets

married, the ring binds his name --


to the newborn child.

The dying man looks

at me, intense, full of love --


for me, life itself.

The earth makes me move,

each day she embraces me --


in another way.

The ecstatic heart-

brake in that opera song --


while we're having ***.

The eerie room is

frightening me with shadows  --


of scary monsters.

The elderly man

is between living and dead --


famously asleep.

Why have I suffered
woven all my tapestries
that have been disposed of
after a while
or otherwise, are decaying?

The cherry blossoms are falling
see how early they fall
they snow in the night
I would like to cry

.....Where have the times gone
.....when the tapestries were woven
.....which are decaying?

Comthreads are swimming
across my eyes, my body
aches, I do not want anymore

.....Where have the times gone
.....when the tapestries were woven
.....which are decaying?

I am the elephant
in the middle of my room
never mind, nothing is wrong!

.....Where have the times gone
.....when the tapestries were woven
.....which are decaying?

The children are talking
softly past me, all together
at the same time

The emigrants there

wear sneakers, they have a dream --


of buying real shoes.

The empty chair may

not be my father's chair, but --


I do miss him now.

The envoys of Athens
in their comfortable carriages
democratically stripped of finery

are dignified by the inability
to make a decision, divided
by all the nuances of reason

They'll have to wait
because we don't have any news
from our informants yet

We sprinkle the goat
with lukewarm water, it does not shiver
so the god will not speak

until the stars are right again
and we are informed
about the politics of the monarchs

We save expenses nor pains
We are the dedicated priests
of a notable consulting business

You are so soft and delicate
your skin in my hand
your full light weight
your warm longing

for the ecstasy of when
your bronze body
was immortal in Verona
and I, kneeling for you

between your legs, dissolved
in love. Slowly
after the fast moving
my hands stroked the scent

smoothly out over you and defenceless
I lay down next to you
on the bed in the quiet room
in the centre of the city

with the angular merlons
The evening brings coolness
while I'm looking at you
looking at you

The evening comes with

colours, birds, sounds, reflecting --


everything to me.

The evening sun pours

a dayful of deep colours –


into the fish pond.

The evening twilight.

Tipping up, I see the white --


scuts of the rabbits.

The exercises

just stretch the right body parts --


to straighten me out.

The fairy tales are

over, since then they just tell --


how it really is.

The famous writer

never needs that many words --


just: The sea is large.

The famous writer

is awfully shy, no one --


attends to his clothes.

The farewell party

is especially festive --


for those who can stay.

The farmer has cows,

some poultry with a watchdog --


and holiday guests.

The feast is over,

there's ***** in the gutter –


feast for the starlings.

The feeling you are

being used is not as bad --


as being unused.

Attentively
humans have created
problems, throwing one after another
into the empty foreworld

They lacked norms, invented them
and were content with all the virtues
and vices to live from day to day
and also at night

They wanted to control everything
and created gods and leaders
with power, to be cruel
without strife in their hearts

The leaders organized it
with secret police and militia
with torture and contempt
and the people agreed to it

It became evening and morning
the morning of the fourth world
of the taboos and the dreams
of elusiveness and afterlife

Anyone and anything can be dangerous
be careful who and what you touch
also with roommates, neighbours, friends
dear colleagues and nice people

Better keep in touch virtually
just let the machines work together
because for us in the fifth world
it could be fatal

The fire is blazing,

so are the stories we tell --


setting us aglow.

The fire of my love

melts the ice of his deceit --


into many tears.

Men are cautious
they rather spurn their chances

than to rely on their noses, but
they can be seduced to take a little bite

if you insist and
have not gotten sick from it yourself

Indeed, it started
with the famous apple, a fig

After the first one he too wanted more
We learned

to look through the foliage
to remember where the trees are

and how to get there, to smell
where the fruit is ripe

We got up earlier than the others
and left in the moonlight

to be the first just a little further away
and get the prize

We grew in our head
and became human

When the child was playing outside
without mum and dad

without anyone, by itself
with a bee and the blow-ball

of a dandelion
there were horses too

further out in the meadow
it said aloud to love:

How many we are!
Looking around in delight

with a deep sigh
without wishing anything

that was not there, the child cried out
with wide arms: Yes!

The horses pricked up their ears
and indeed, love was there:

they felt it in their hooves
they breathed it in, and out

and all their skin began to glow
Excited they looked at each other

Do you feel, do you feel it? she blew
Yes it's wonderful, he whinnied

It is awesome! they all
snorted and stamped

The foals were hopping around them
For them, it was the first time

The great sea
foams impetuously
The ships are struggling

through, dive up
from the waves, again and again
on their way to the port

that tames the wild water
The fish fly
out of the hands of the skippers
quickly ashore, to high piles

under the brown-red sky
of the setting sun
and the ships leap up

On the dark horizon
the sea is dreaming restlessly
in a night without time

The fish requests for

asylum, with a suitcase –


I open my mouth.

The flag has long frays,

like her hair when she left me --


Her hair in the wind.

Under the Peace Flag
there is the most freedom
to continue the war
referring to provisions
in the Treaty of Peace

There is always a story
to tell about the past
an era to choose
in which is founded
what was lost, a Golden Age

to which the people are entitled
and in which they will arise:
everything will be fine
as long as you have the last word
and silence the dissenters

those traitors of the truth
and the ideals of the revolution
Fight for equal rights
of our oppressed brothers
Free them!

Restore the territory
the foundation of the wealth
and the power of the leaders
then they might grant you
a large statue

The flags are blowing:

a miserable view, these --


ostentatious flags.

The flawless bellhop

carefully lays my suitcase --


down like a loved one.

The floor is ceiling:

you see a metal flower --


spinning beneath you!

The flower necklace,

she throws it away, doesn't want --


to be manacled.

The fluctuating

flood-mark, a boundary of --


dry seaweed flowers.

Humans can be strong
like a bear, with a gun

or a cannon, and swim
like the fastest fish, with sails

or a motor, they can
even fly with large wings

that don't need to strike
and therefore are not real wings

An airplane is a thing
the true flyer is the Fly

All birds are jealous of it
because it wears the crown

of its name, credit
where credit is due: the Fly

The fly explores me,

tickles my arms and my hands --


It cannot be caught.

The forget-me-not

on your grave sows on your grave --


more forget-me-nots.

I've celebrated it
forty, fifty, sixty, the ten-
year steps of my life

have been preserved as memories
among the countless parties
of others, just like me

aging and remaining who they are
even though something starts
not to correspond in the mirror

When did that happen?
Was I present?
With my friends?

On forgotten in-between days?
When my hair thinned, my skin
weakened, and I became different

from how I feel – everywhere
where I touch myself
it is still familiar

I am ageless in life
with a deeply rooted pen
that wants to continue to enjoy

the taste of the deep
water, filtered through the earth
sunk from the present

The fountain is clear,

I dry myself with some grass --


The nightingale sings.