Going to
therapy
taking pills talking
talking to people
sleeping
enough
rough thoughts
in my head

Breast heavy
flow interrupted
step by
step
got it?

no use to play this track backwards

those trips don't do no good
she says, and flings my hand aside

i bite you if you keep me here all day!

don t think i miss the bit of joy
and freedom that i had
back in the days

don t think this is a hopeless call
for help
don t think that just a single twist in this game could
or would-
or might-
give you only the slightest bit of an idea

of life itself.

no use to play this track backwards
i say

I hate daffodils, because you know
and her face fell down a little as though not quite convinced of her own words
they are false and only mentioned when people
what? she thought, irritably
when people want to be poetic

But you like them, you told me once
and he was sure, and he was right about that
so I don't see why.

You never see anything, that's because you are too much-
too much yourself. and myself, too
because you are living in your own mind an awful lot of the time
what time?

Love, don't upset me, I mean what I say
and says what he means
and if you don't like them it's okay to me
only to me
and if you do like them, well I get you some.

                                *In the meantime, while his lips are moving, she begins
                                                                               to see words coming out of
his mouth and forming a beautiful little cloud above his head. She sees
                                                                                        them, does not hear them,
                                                                    circling. He is beautiful in every way, and daffodils are not
                                                                                                                                        the matter of this. Not at all.

Home is where your heart is, a friend told me some time ago
On a little piece of paper that I took with me then;
Most people think of home as something stable, as something they would know;
Each time I part, I'm thinking of this lttle note, and it is when

                               I really miss you
                                           that I imagine my heart to be in many places
one of those pieces being by your side.

this is a simple thing
thus these lines know no rhyme -
no time is used to jot them down
no time is needed here
to rhyme.

It is only of coming home.

If there is nothing more to hear
within-
you say,
If there is not a single sound surrounding
us in the silence-

why then-
how then did this come about?

I laugh out loud and drop
my pencil on the floor

and suddelny remember-
in a rush of colors-
all the beauty of those noises that so long irritated me.

Crooked windows,
crooked streets
in the light -
during the night
they leak.

The beast inside, though,
does not fret.
It crept to this place,
its very own grace
being cut down.

Huge green eyes
peer through the glass.
Slowly,
slowly moving mass
approaches.

The space between
grows minimal,
and as you scream -
it screams with you.

Mouth wide open,
claws inside
these creatures howl,
they spit and fight.

Science
has reached
its ******.
The windows crack,
as you have lost your track.

Two pairs of green eyes
peer out of the darkness -
four claws -
two pounding hearts -
the beat,
adjusted.

You know for sure
I'll always
leave the light on for you, Love
and wave it
if needed
signal for you
with all I have

Eberyday i get up
Brush my teeth
Get dressed
Have breakfast
Go to work

And hope to overtake your heart with a tiny little blink of the eye or a touch of my fingertips to your shoulder.

Everyday.

As I was bound to the vortex
in my head
and the odd shape -
no gap, no threat to the void -
came - awkwardly moving
and its core being
outside
It was me
and it was seeing the rays of light
streching-
streching their bright edges

and those edges: folding
and doing so
in a permanent way
for they multiply strangely
and without my hand knowing

their poles none,
neither minus
nor plus -
don't fuss, I tell myself -
a pious wish,
for my eyelids are shaking.


this was the dream.

how come i have cold feet like that
lie in my bed
and freeze and freeze
and freeze?

how come, now that i realize, that you
don't lie here next to me?

i guess you've climbed up
on the roof
to find a final proof of how the world goes round.

Somebody told me
- between the last bit of light at daytime
and the first rise of orange in the morning - that
actually life signifies nothing

that so, I thought, and bells started to ring
in my ears, and yours.

quit performing this dance, I thought
quit transferring your sport into life
for I fear it

you strive for this horror, the horror
of pages
and pages of pounding works
of giant piles of living paper

Later you will see
or hear
how they laugh at themselves
and this sound - which you will hate -
feels so great to me

The sound of laughing paper
of running ink
contradicting itself
in - and by -  its very own shape

Is not that great?

He is the one they told me about:
Iron fist, black head, no wings
Only strings
Which he ties around your feet -
If you try
If you try to creep
Out of his reach.

He is the high blurred figure
And the dark man
Beside the grave
He is the grave digger, love.

But also,
He is you
As your face turns
As your eye burns
In the dim light.

Realising -
They have told a lie -
Don't cry.

Body
NoT funny-

See, this poem will be CHAOS;

Sliding along in front of my
eyes
a shiny cabinet of dusty and non dusty Polaroids
like you used to Show me
like your photo art and huge light
in the cellar

move me now
they do

the cabinet opend and my veins fill with the blood of my
childhood
pulse paces up
mum calls from upstairs to stop reading practice and come up
Food gonna get cold

next slide
pacing through the cold autumn forest and behind me a huge
deer
but I am not scared because we know him
we seen him many many times before in autums here in the wild park

cklick
you in your motorbike Fashion and helmet that used to scare me
make me cry because I cannot see your face
and the other Polaroid where you wear the full gear in front of
your motorbike

click
Flash - Flash - Flash
move you up the bed
up
up
I help you; you cannot do it anymore, not always
says mum, not a good day, she saiys
she lying?

click
you and me and my childhood friend in the local Swimming pool
and you unashamed bottom turned to everyone
pulling up your Swimming Pants

click
Flash-flash
you turn and Keep turning
not seeming to know where your room is
your room and your bed and thus the place you spend
most of your days and hours now

crack
goes my heart
crack

the next Polaroid is one
where I did not exist yet

where you and mum slide down the map of
Southern France, maybe Provence, in your White Reno? Or Alfa Romeo? Or any other
car you had back then.

And now;
crack - crack - crack
goes my heart
and yours and maybe our family's heart

But I will Keep you in
and I will hold you up and if I ******* have to pull off
your shoes again then I might as well, dear, I might as well
do it.

I will have to gather
All my shadows together,
Not like an army
Defending my body and mind,
Not like a wall, stone cold-
No; more like: to find
What is left of the real things
In me.

Because look; it’s like this-
See: shadows are not shadows to me
Any longer-
Black is not black in the way
It is to others.
And white, in a sense, is not white
And I am not even fighting
Not even-
Writing about it.

For here is why:
Daylight makes edges too sharp
For their contours to melt.
So, as for my heart, I speak
Only to you-
Do you see them-
Do you see the shadows, too?

And even now-
Even this was not a question.
For it is only why I want to be
With you.

over the fence i saw my very own
lungs exploding
splinters and bits of it covering
the next best breath
the next best line
of my own narrative
that - now -
wrinkled and crunched and wrapped around the fence
still knows how to dance-

and amounts to the desperate summit
of bright enthusiasm:
exploding this time
in vibes and waves
and again – and always

again.

Why is it called chaos game
when all we do seems to reframe
the thoughts we've had before?

If half of x constitutes y
and if, therefore, the sky is blue
then let me show you
something else:

a little girl that sits and dwells
on a green field
plays with a game of marbles.

After each cast
she looks and pins
a little leaf of grass
into the ground.

She plays her game
until the sun goes down
and, tired now, she rises
looks again -
begins to frown at what unfolds
before her eyes;

the leaves of grass
have formed a shape
that, in the gloomy light,
resembles much a pyramid
with lion head, a human body,
and a riding knight who clutches
a fleur-de-lis-

Reaching down the giant girl
picks from my hand the gift
that I for her have brought
into this world, for her to drift
however far she dares
to go.

And chances are that,
in this chaos,
in this chaotic game,
this lily is the only thing that we both see
and thus the only thing that is worth looking at;

          Thus, my equation ends,
          having used up all xes
          and all whys-
          exhausted from such high amount
          of unpredicted turning points-

And no one tries
to sit her down to talk.
And so the girl continues;
and she keeps on to walk
in purple fields,
with lilies in her hair,
forever drifting,
planting her faithful seeds.

In the grass you lie and hear
everything twice as loud and double size as I do

in the grass you wait
patiently with your arms embracing your knees
and raveling stories in your head

in the trees you see much more
than any one of us could
and for hours you are not cold
as even the old ones leave for home now;

you sit -
and you sit in the grass
and remember god knows what
and i won't call you odd

for some day, i am sure, you'll outwit us all.

Sudden strikes of swollen thunder
Hit the air and cure the silence
Of a long forgotten wonder
Lingering within this house.

Crows and leaves surround the tower
Circling in moving halos
And I hear the golden hour
Calling for the final act.

So I open up the gate
For the rush of air to enter
Out of grey-white, misty shade
Into this world of broken laughter.

With a cracking noise the glass
Smashes and is torn apart
Wind has formed a hurling mass
Blowing out remaining light.

For a moment in the dark
Nothing is but pounding rain
And I ask my beating heart;
Do you fear –
Do you fear the coming pain?

In a circle I walked.
For this circle I prayed.
In a square I arrived -
    And am caught.

For the end of the circle
Would be its beginning.
And the round, colored space
Could be the world we live in.

But the square separates us,
Its edges cut sharp in my flesh
Each time I try to turn
And see where you are,
       And if we collide or crash.

Blindfolded I feel
Each new wall to come,
Each new turn,
In an angle of ninety degree.

So I am fleeing,
Searching you in the square,
And its natural shape
                         Prevents me from -
                                  seeing.

Cutting through my chest
With the force of a steel fist
Your absence now pounds in my brain.

And as present as ever
The feeling is burning:
A stain in the white rag.

there's nothing I can choose
nothing to lose
lose wieght as such was never really one
of my great pleasures

i measure life with coffeespoons
and moons reside in greater circuits as yet discovered
by man kind

so blind so blind my love
i see you here and feel you
and this is all i care about

over
and out.

As he stepped
Into the puddle
He thought: I should make it double -
And jumped a second time.

Wet drops soaked
His trouser legs;
Smiling then, he dropped his specs
To see without reflection.

If you had flipped this upside down
A scene would have emerged
Where waterfalls began to drown
His feet, his pants, his heart.

And watercolors soak the page now,
The puddle empty, dry.
And He only a mess of paint,
The painter whistling: My, oh my.

○○○

Embrace me fully

shatter
                             shatter
                                                     shatter my heart

my love

I am not scared

Reach out
find                                      nothingness

I make a substance for you

Disrupt my                waves        of       strengh
I build them new

Don't wait for just another poem my dear
Don't queue for freedom


                                             Grab it

                                                   It is here

○○○

H like hell I don't know what's wrong with me
S like say my name but not in a whisper or behind my back
P like pick on someone your size, please*

Masses of light flood in;
sound like no I cannot hear anything clearly now
and lights again - too many lights -
in nights where other babies cried I lay awake
relieved

so welcome to my life, my friend,
come spend a day with me and let me know:

is it a blessing or
a curse?

Look
a beautiful thing
casts
its shadow
once it has
decided to stay
and take form;

A beautiful thing you are
finally casting
your shadow

Okay love, you just need to walk
around the corner and my heart
stops dead.

Arrête!
I cannot hold back anymore
I can NOT -
and I dread the moment when I have
to face the facts.



I really do.

The Queen
not dead
but dormant
for so long
So so long
stirs
already for a long time now
drenched with knowing
with foreboding
She lies still
patient
but never unseeing

On this day
it is raining
On this day
what needs to happens
happens

On this day
a hand
stretches out towards Her
shy but determined
A hand She knows well
A face She knows
so well
so
so well

Patience,
darling,
don't always look at
tomorrow
with
yesterday's lenses-
cleanse
your view
and leave the window open
so that your head
can feel
the breeze...

Fields and forests,
         Clouds and thunder
             Mean nothing to me -
Is what I would say
If what was on my mind
Was even slightly resembling
The strength of your mind.

Unfortunately though
I cannot part from this world
Until my very last gesture
Is reaching-up-to-the-sky.

And I cannot leave this place,
And I hate you for saying
That the only thing keeping
You here is I.

I like short poems, she said
And mechanically he –
Not knowing what –
Liked her and her head.

He wrote page after page,
Confusing her smile
With admiration and love,
Igniting her rage.

In the end she set fire
To a huge pile of paper
That included no more
Than his wish to admire.

I don’t feel like going
Anywhere
Without knowing
Where you are.

I apologize,
I know how this sounds
How you frown
Because you’ll never hear it.

I know I should tell you -
And in the meantime
We live parallel lives -
Tell you what drives me
To this place
Every day.

Instead we do not move
I say nothing
You are silent
Only the violent, fiery cuts,
Once in a while,
Are proof enough.

~ ~ ~
And in the narrow vision of my half closed eyes I see
Dark shapes emerging
And descending into every favorite object
Of my long harbored hopes and fears
And yours.
Inflicting my beloved place with darkness
They mount and dive into the realms of physics
And of clarity;

And so we sit
In our favorite coffee house with tea and cake,  and ache
And ache for we can feel their presence
As they invoke in us that fear
Of breaking mirrors and of shaking ground;

And now partaking in our gestures and our face
- They come into this world
And break what we had hoped for with a grace
That only creatures from the underworld possess
To lessen our role in the real world –
They grab hold of our arms:
Yours first
Then mine
And climb with us onto a mountain top so dark
And so remote that we now feel
As though our eyes half-closed again.

And in the beauty of this sleep
I am no longer able to shake off the beasts
Of non-reality.

Slowly, very slowly, the child stops fighting, starts to lay down shield and sword and crawls out of its dark corner, shifts towards the light [...]

I got three different chocolate bars
here on a plate at home.
One is with caramel for sure
and pretty soft I guess,
I'm going to leave this alone
or else I make a mess where I am now.

The other is of biscuit and of caramel
as well as the first one.
Looks better alltogether and will be
more fun to eat.

The last one now is of a creamy kind
with milk and all that stuff.
I save this one there, too,
for when the rough times come.

*Now here I stand:
nothing to eat cause all must be
untouched.
nothing in my sweet little hand
but thin blue air

a pair of borrowed shoes
and borrowed thoughts.

Alas, when the time comes
and frost will freeze the floor
I'll have three things;

Two chocolate bars of caramel,
a biscuit one,
and all the hope that brings me
through the winter,
where nothing will be done

Let your hands not
Cling to the frozen beds
Of purple flowers

Let them crash the icy surface and relief
Your skin

So that our future has
No chance to pass
Unnoticed

About four years ago I fell
into your face and stayed
embraced myself and read through you
what in myself I could not -

Two years ago I broke for the first time
and since, to rhyme makes me feel sick at heart;
and art as such no longer wears me out
or brings me down but merely
is as permanent as breath -

Last year I felt you slip away beneath my hands
and tried to bind two ends together, of which I knew
they don't belong -

Today, I swear, my mind fell out
onto the stony ground as I went home
away from you -

And here, this minute, keyboard staring back
and screen and windows are ridiculously black to me
and sounds not even get to me today -

but hey, those rhymes are back
                                                                         **** it
at last.

Battered and crumbled, fallen to pieces,
The cities lie dusty, and silent He is.
Until looking at her face,
So pure and so shiny,
Pacing towards her, through the debris he walks.

Unfolding his black wings,
He comes to a halt.
And she stands, with a shiver,
Her eyes wide in awe.

A second of loud noise,
Then a minute of hush,
So they stand and they stare,
For nobody to see.

In the end it is Him
Who is finally vanquished,
By the immediate gaze
Of a flesh and blood creature.

Arising again, He grows paler -
             and paler.

He covertly rubs his hands,
wiping an "A" from his mouth
sprinkles his ankles
with ashes of "summer's days".

He licks his blue lips,
parting to speak:
Not empty but "full", he howls
and, rolling the empty bowles-
with loads "of sound"-
to the edge of the table:

"And fury" he cries- shrill and brief
- Crash!
the little green ******, the *******,

that word-loving thief!

He slides down the wooden leg,
silently now, scurrying back.
Head low, mouth sealed,
yielding
                 the field
                             to the writers.

Count your blessings
you stupid idiot

count all the smiles and the fairytale moments
you deserved and did not deserve

count the minutes this earth was peaceful for you
and your loved ones

count your tears and the amount of those you have shed
in a happy embrace and the joyful look on your childish face

count - I beg you - the seconds of hope before desperation
and tell me-

why do you still not just take it and make what you want out of it
                                                                    - and break up your moaning.

Behind the sharp line
Of the red horizon
There lies a city, and it is called Real.

People of Real
Only show their faces
While picking flowers
And walking through brains.

Children of Real
Learn very early
About the black cloud that lingers
Above their horizon.

And they are warned
Not to dream about it
Or to touch it, ever,
For it is not Real.

The cloud they call Liar
For there live the liars –
It is a dusty place
Where dark crowds reside.

And if one day a child
Crosses the horizon –
People of Real
And people of Liar
Will change their opinion.

Holding
  My fingers
To my brain
It hurts-
    Framing my face, my head
       Encircling inner horrors
          And still –
For all there is, for all the dread-
I still don’t care.