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.

The friction between

I am me and you are you --


is love and loveless.

The friendship is so

delicate, we cannot say --


goodbye properly.

The Friesian horses,

stepping in black cloths with hoods --


and snorting with life.

The front wheel drags, grr,

short of breath I cycle on --


panting like a dog.

The full moon enchants

the city, I wonder why –


no one is looking.

The full moon is so

beautiful! to keep looking –


is só difficult.

The further I am

travelling, the less I know --


actually know.

The future eats me,


which I don't mind, as long as --



I feel the chewing.

The future hides it-

self like a chameleon --


in the blackest black.

The gate has no bell,

no one opens when I knock --


It comes down to me.

The geese: satisfied,

lying back in the meadow –


dotted with daisies.

The geese: vigilant

next to their grass-green droppings --


Sated in the sun.

The giantess likes to eat
cake pans, crunchy
fishshells with fishink

cheese boards and cell goblets
gland sweat, salad Russians
peachicks and bean runners

she sniffs up sausage smoke
and krautsauer, munches
on fruit stones

takes tomatoes for desert
with white cheese goats
and always hungers

for Himmel und Erde

The gigantic wheels

of light emerge from the sea --


like super spaceships.

I think a lot about the girl
from the camp in Guantánamo
she is a flower among the flowers
a mountain in the mountains, she lives
and never has to go anywhere

There, birds are singing in the palms
a stream flows through the valley
the water shines softer than gold
and she is a white rose
in June and in January

About her, I want to write
sunbeams in the eternal forest
a sparkling song from my heart
in bright green words
and flaming red music

She is my soul, she melts
weapons with feathers and coral
water, with laurel she heals
the wounded deer, the girl
from the camp in Guantánamo

The girl I follow

would really like to kiss me --


if she just knew me.

The girl is staring,

thinking hard of what she thinks --


she really doesn't know.

The girl just watches,

her parents build tall towers --


till they fall over.

The girl keeps wriggling,

at her wrists and her ankles --


tossed into the sea.

The goats bleat among

the audience, bleat among --


lines of poetry.

The goddess of love

likes to sleep with the strong god –


of war and killing.

Again it is happening
thoughts I have more
than the urge to participate
I'm dreaming of a kiss

and more lying ahead
Again I don't know why
also tonight I don't
just take action

even though I see opportunities here
I still don't find a way
to join, to take
a step with a joke

or careless gesture
I wish I could
but
we run past one another
like gods without a sun

The Golden House, all

golden houses are beliefs --


in an illusion.

It was great
to be king
but I don't have the power

to stop the end
they undress me completely
and smear me with grease

with pipes, they blow dust gold
on me, they cover me
with years of envy

The procession leads me
to the throne on the raft
it is a ruthless play

Shining in the light
of my father, the sun
I float across the lake

to lurking eyes
on the other side
that would come to skin me

if I didn't have a wash
and hastily gave the sun
to the greedy water

The golden twilight:

a beautiful last evening –


but not today, please.

The gold is shining

more and more, and so brightly --


that it catches fire.

The goshawk protects

the pagoda's fine frescoes –


from pigeon droppings.

The grain in the barn

is very safe in the claws –


of Cool Captain Cat.

The grand narratives

didn't really happen that way --


they are lies, true lies.

The grand parade is

over, and never over:


unforgettable.

The fall draws me
.....as the view drew me
..........along many landscapes
...............and what I experienced
....................and learned along the way
.........................opened up many avenues
to new plans
.....new places, and
..........new people
...............new opportunities with
....................new insights
.........................and new acceptance
I remember everything
.....even more intense than it was
..........brighter than in the full sun
...............purer is my love
....................purer are my choices
.........................purer my desires
in the final fall
..........with less pleasure
....................and less expectation

and what I did not achieve
.....did not get and
..........could not prevent
...............dissolves in the sea
....................of eternity
.........................fall after fall

The Great Leader shouts:

We Are Great, The World Is Ours!


Who offers the most?

What is one is itself
but if you know someone else
you are partly also that person
you are also what was different
until that moment

And you observe that, it dawns
on you and you grow

That's interesting, we repeat it
in stories about people
and the gods they imagine:
the more souls, the merrier and the more
humor thanks to the differences

And the trick is to learn
to see that everyone is everything

Therefore, yes therefore there was
a feast in heaven for the wicked sons
at the end of their tumultuous lives
while the good sons
were taken to hell

And the supreme god laughed
at their illusions

The Great Superboss

funes the stock markets: a crash --


of bulk moneyballs.

My second year, lamb's gruel
which I liked to eat for years
my dear mom and her will
in the green of her eyes

The garden, unlimited
my world, away from mom
crawling as far as I could
in the green of the grass

Through the Forest Park
rides in the stroller
the endless sky
in the green of the trees

the play of swaying
light and dark spots
the beckoning heaven
in the green of my consciousness

The grey heron looks

fixedly at the water –


but she does see me.

The grey langurs screech

in the main city temple --


and bang the clappers.

The ground beneath her

feet has taken her, the earth --


whose praises I sang.

The Guanyin statue:

her eyes have lost their colour --


but they see my need.

Sweetheart, the earth is getting cold
we have to do something
take ourselves by the hand
The guides walk away

in different directions
guided by the wishes
of their followers, that's how

it always goes, whatever you think of it
If only there were guardian angels
with power, not the writers

who meet in this café
no, a Guardian Council
for presidents and scholars

who want to unload graphite powder
on the north pole, throw atomic bombs
upon it, or build a dam

in the Bering Strait, with pumps
on peaceful nuclear energy
finishing the job

Yet... all of us, we
must do it ourselves, guard each other
with wings of compassion and reason

The guests run away,

the staff is left with the feast --


left with the rumours.

The gull does not flee

from their stench, no, it attacks --


them: the garbage bags.