Books are enriching,

they're giving me a feeling –


of sedentarny.

There is a shortage of seats
in the public tribune
because there is a shortage

of seats in parliament
for passion, time, and happiness
without negotiable details

to summarize in rules and laws
for a world of unequal opportunities
our fight

for rights and duties, for seats
for ignored interests
ignored people

of today and later
born in the mystery
of living together

My world doesn't have to be bigger
than as far as my eyes reach
yet they see a new horizon
when I look around over there

.....Give me your hand, wait
.....a while with going and come
.....with me, together
.....we can be at home

I will always stand still
on street corners
looking where the sun is
where the clouds go

.....Take off your jacket, your fear
.....be happy here
.....take a bath
.....I'll give you a massage

Indefinite scents
blow over the beach
my feet push
bow waves in the sand

Boxes in the wind,

rolling on, getting one kick --


after the other.

Men remain boys, but
sometimes boys are men
when it comes down to it
Then fear makes them brave
awakening their minds, with an emergency
grasp of maturity

Rich people's sons buy themselves free
and betrothed also manage
to get money, so that
only the poor remain
and some rabble, happy with a salary
sometimes hoping for *****, riches

and women of course, women
have to acquiesce
in worry, fear and sorrow
suffering the pain of men
their frustration, their lust
their dreams

Men remain boys, scared boys
With a questioning face you take them
by their fat finger
It's easy to break

But sometimes they get wrapped up in their game
Then they sleep badly and wake up with a start
from the dreams in which they practise
what they are planning

By day they can't smile
They are busy or absent
and when they leave they shout
that they love you very much

They take it so seriously
It's so important and urgent
that they can't talk about it
until their success is assured

Our silence is their conscience
We can't do more
until it has failed
despite their good intentions

Boys thinking to be

a good lover, sink their claws --


into the girl's soul.

Boys we were, nice boys,

gazing at the paving stones --


gazing at the stars.

Mama said you are
doing this so well
and thus she taught me

to be good, and now
I teach my children
by not being strict

that they can accidentally
or deliberately do something
that is not allowed

I see them discover
who they are, who they think
they are and wish to be

and about myself I am
thinking: who am I and
what has remained?

What is the blend
of my identity, the I
in my brain?

Brave from drinking, care-

ful after the drunkenness --


the army attacks.

No fast traffic here
no high steel and concrete
in the streets, but
walkable space

The sun draws attention
away from us, towards the light
on the black facades on the harbour
the white cornices and red tiles:

the picture for the photos
of the tanned tourists
on the terrace of the tanhouse
who walk into our gardens

as if we live here
in an open-air museum
and should praise
their silly insolence

as a decent interest
But we can live with it
The visitors walk around
in a parallel reality

and we have real neighbours
a wide sky, the wide water
and the green island
We can breathe here

as the wood breathes
in the seasons
as the wind breathes
in the grass

Breitner's studio:

knife, rolls of canvas, boxes –


with a few matches.

A brief break on the road
too tired for a nap
or to really eat here, something
that they don't even have

It's no use
to take my coat off
I just keep that one
glove on as well

I wish I was at home, in bed
not those bright lights, not that
endless dark night
still to go

Bright flashes of light,

the rigging and the heather --


screaming the loudest.

Bringing things to growth,

and then having to stop them --


with newly passed laws.

Bring me back my time

after my death, I still want –


to be rebellious.

Bring our friend home,

go to him, bring him around --


with all my ardour!

Building our house, we

start with the most important:


the escape exits.

Bump, bump, with those blows

on my head I can't think what --


to do about it.

I walk twenty steps, five feet
down into the darkness
of buried secrets
on the outskirts of the oasis

I walk twenty steps, five feet
in the excavation
next to the shallow ditch
which was once a pond

Discovered from the sky
vaguely marked in the sand
by odd gauge values
of the substrate

Back into the light
where a man sits
on the roots of an old tree
looking at me

Compelling, he beckons me
pointing to his water bottle
and I realise
that he knows the answers

to the questions I shall ask
when he is no longer there

A trunk full of coins, countless
too many to use them in some way
We dispose of them properly

by putting them away for later
in a safe place, buried
under the ash in the middle of our town

We have enough, with the cattle
the pans and the women
who we capture across the border

The men, we trade
for jewelry and silver
that way we get rid of them

without having to ****
or to fear a rebellion
After all, life is hard enough already

Burnt in his best suit

and scattered over the waves –


but he is blown back.

Insatiable angels float
through the park, wearing wings
of fear and a crown that hurts
Their heart is wounded, lonely
and it no longer knows who it dwells in

The trees cannot help them
Pickpockets lurk in the bushes
of hidden love
The alderman sends police
into the night with handcuffs

People are closing up their homes
They hear, see, and speak no evil
An owl in the hollow of a tree
calls the hour of truth
and my eyes start to water

In the tearoom, we pretend
to be good friends – in turn
we bounceball our days

If only I could make contact
but with words, it doesn't work
Our hands are close together

We gaze outside
it can't be explained
although we understand

And that already comes too close

But in retrospect,

I wasn't really unhappy --


It didn't mean too much!

Skyscrapers collapse
Giant boulders are pebbles
to ice shove, castles
and temples do not stand

under anxious and angry violence
Every fear perishes
by itself, it cannot continue
connecting, and it splits itself

Laws are broken
but not the love
in which we live, free
from the chaos

taking space
for its own convenience
taking more and more world
but not our love

Butterflies around

us, you and me, laughing we --


pamper each other.

The judge is listening, the clerk recording
everything and very precisely
the lawyers summarise it

A butterfly flutters through the hall
gently, gently
the judge catches it

between his hands, just a moment
then he arranges the acts
in an archive box

without passing sentence
He sends away the parties
to settle a small issue

together and
at the next session
he invites them

to make arrangements themselves
on another point
He takes the box and asks

their assent to close it
There is music from the café
the judge closes the windows

stores bands and robe
In the courtyard full of flowers
he fills a large watering can

**** how is it dung:

the hole **** in smooth poogress –


or with big assents?

But why is there war?

Those who return, are injured --


No luck awaits them.

Buzzing everywhere,

the oasis full of bees --


All flowers empty.

Buzzing 'round the world,

a net of New Year's wishes:


a heavenly peace.

By chance found again:

the butterfly box, the pins --


in circles of dust.

Bye, my teenage years,

bye, butterfly of my dreams –


how short is your life.

By looking we tame

each other, to each other --


we become unique.

Blockages at work
outages and oxygen deficiency
waste in the blood

The management focuses
on the future and closes
doors and windows against
mosquitoes and moths

Bypasses and bitter pills
do not help, so just one more
reorganization

We have meetings, hear each other
cackle, we croak our croak
play for time and hope and celebrate
the colleagues who say goodbye

I don't postpone it anymore
I will make my own way
create my own failure

My hands are still cleaning up
but my head is already absent
and I make beds in my heart
for those who are dear to me

It is too high here
and too empty, and that man
over there is observing me
so awkwardly

He apparently has nothing
to do, he's knotted up and keeps
looking past me, squinting
at my *******

His second cigarette
does not soothe him either
his thumb is tense
of desire

I can't go anywhere
there are no stores in this quarter
to escape
if he trails behind me

Should I just nod
to him, kindly
as the sunlight
and have a chat?

What am I doing here
dressed up and laughing
for nothing, in too much noise

to understand anyone?
still nine, nine days left
nine days without hands

to lie in and purr
only mine
and they don't count

can not do what he can do
Perhaps the man opposite me
seems like a sweet man

or the pretty guys over there
who will know how
without thinking about it

what I am doing here
doubting
with my clothes on

I think of America, the dream
of life giving you a smile
so exuberantly

the woman sings out
on the sign of Café the Laugh
Underneath it grows some moss

that takes life as it is
between the roof tiles on the sidewalk
It must

have been very stormy last night
but everyone was inside
and forgot the world

which is not as safe
as we wish, not as solid
as thought when it was built

Everywhere there grows some moss
that takes life as it is
also in America

When I want to know something, I call

someone from the explanation folks
Strangers are my interpreters
and my guides in the web

Be my brother, my sister
give me a real kiss
'We are family', we are birds

of a feather, we fly together
over the net that binds us
to what we know

: our golden rule
Have Hand In Hand Trust
in yourself and the things you do

The world is divided
but I learned to tie
the pieces together
      
to patterns, and still
I saw more and more differences
so I searched for connection
      
in religion and the One
soul of mankind
in which you have to believe
      
because it cannot be seen
in the divided world
in which I live, surviving, and
      
the other is a stranger
however much I know about him
even if he is my dearest
      
there is plenty to guess
I call it secrets
that comes close
      
to the mystery

Call me, call my name,

I love you love let me be –


called out of your mouth.

It starts in the little square
in the evening. Fresh air
The palms relax

Soft light from oil lamps
An owl calls, the snake-
charmer opens the baskets

blowing his whistle. Turmoil in the trees
a bird paradise. Slim
boys stretch themselves

The drum brings the wheel
in motion, a spider prince
puts his arms and legs

down on the tones of the flute
and dances around the time wheel
The snakes are raising

Just before I fall asleep
rolled up in my basket
the owl calls again

Candle fish, glowing

in the moon, and in the light –


of their own burning.

Can it comfort me,

that I am in love with him --


who holds me captive?

Can love heal my heart,

wanting to be here with you --


and longing for her?

I wander along the stores
which make the pitch dark less scary
although you never know who may pop up

and that would not be Prince Charming
who can break through his spell
with my love, so that instantly
the shop window is a marriage bed
with sky blue curtains

and we get an enema because
of the spurning the chewable tablets
to let go of the past
and to seal our future
only dressed in a crown

with the red plug in his ****
and the green one in mine
The girls from my work
escort us to the bed
which we mount under applause

Their hands lay us down
and rub us up
for the grand finale

Can people be smart

enough to truly judge --


whether they believe?

Most people walk past
At best they think: can't this be better
can't this colouring in boxes
also be done by a child -
      
practice a few times
to fill them in solidly, without scratches
and to stay within the lines, but did they
ever sit down for it themselves?
      
Dot they remember what it feels like?
That you are completely absorbed in it
that time stands still and everything
feels good, that you know
      
well, can't I? Yes
I can do this too!

Can't you let me dance

in the street, to the music --


I like to dream of?