About the stone and you
All I say about the stone and you
is not stone and not you
the cloud may be greeting
he doesn’t speak, but dances
himself summarised by solitary drops
Order is world, so my mind constrains
fearfully the eye inwards
you think: impossible
to greet the cloud
to dance with the drops
I put the stone on your grave
ask a question which sows doubt
or feel the tiny drop as if it’s a
gentle arm around me
The word is not the mountain
that spews
although it says mountain
it’s not you who still talks
but the clouds in me that drop words
is not stone and not you
the cloud may be greeting
he doesn’t speak, but dances
himself summarised by solitary drops
Order is world, so my mind constrains
fearfully the eye inwards
you think: impossible
to greet the cloud
to dance with the drops
I put the stone on your grave
ask a question which sows doubt
or feel the tiny drop as if it’s a
gentle arm around me
The word is not the mountain
that spews
although it says mountain
it’s not you who still talks
but the clouds in me that drop words
Motivation by disorientation
The new face surprises me with her signs:
she speaks a wordless dialect,
looks at me and looses her balance
(one of her legs shorter than the other)
I fumble with memory and imagination
she speaks a little: apparently effortless, a wave
of lines and shifts, movements, fluent and shocking,
sometimes small, very small:
the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, the falling hair,
the pulled out eyebrow, the pale skin, the dry lips,
the little frown, the closed earlobe
she speaks a wordless dialect,
looks at me and looses her balance
(one of her legs shorter than the other)
I fumble with memory and imagination
she speaks a little: apparently effortless, a wave
of lines and shifts, movements, fluent and shocking,
sometimes small, very small:
the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, the falling hair,
the pulled out eyebrow, the pale skin, the dry lips,
the little frown, the closed earlobe
Her ash-mouth
Her ash-mouth threatens our closed harmony
my filleted wittiness suppresses her distrust
- but not for long -
there she drinks displeasure, too often, too much
weak becomes my gulf of interest for her grief
- this takes too long -
I bit form in winding flesh, ruthless as ever
she swallows my soggy cloth of Taurus ridden lust
- now she becomes afraid -
but then, I don’t forget, I release her, set free the air
she doesn’t cry, but laughs, because this is what she wanted
- now I am afraid -
my filleted wittiness suppresses her distrust
- but not for long -
there she drinks displeasure, too often, too much
weak becomes my gulf of interest for her grief
- this takes too long -
I bit form in winding flesh, ruthless as ever
she swallows my soggy cloth of Taurus ridden lust
- now she becomes afraid -
but then, I don’t forget, I release her, set free the air
she doesn’t cry, but laughs, because this is what she wanted
- now I am afraid -
Will-report
The town that so thrums
disrupts my panic
bears itself and asks nothing
when I wait for the sentences
half-hearted perverse I rub
along memoires full of sweet whores
and limping addicts drooling interpreting
on their lost boys blood
my genital beaten in tumult
with thunders of regret
about loyalty too young
and evenings full of bullshit
about style and value
and the god forgotten tyrant
who didn’t want to listen
when the burning hate split
my tongue and so gagged
- my tears only spoke
about impotence
and defeated will -
disrupts my panic
bears itself and asks nothing
when I wait for the sentences
half-hearted perverse I rub
along memoires full of sweet whores
and limping addicts drooling interpreting
on their lost boys blood
my genital beaten in tumult
with thunders of regret
about loyalty too young
and evenings full of bullshit
about style and value
and the god forgotten tyrant
who didn’t want to listen
when the burning hate split
my tongue and so gagged
- my tears only spoke
about impotence
and defeated will -
When I disappeared
When I disappeared (it was still light)
the trees were here
when I disappeared
my mother walked in the street
she didn’t cry, she never did
father revolved the big things
didn’t err, he never did
when I disappeared (it was already dark)
the wind was here
and mother stood in front of the window
she didn’t cry, she never did
When father disappeared (it was dawn)
the trees were here
when he disappeared
my mother was home
she didn’t complain, she never did
when I saw my father (the sun up in the sky)
with his forehead sweaty
I hovered through the air, just over him
I circled, and he grabbed my arm
his laughter was hoarse and loud
when my mother kept silent that evening
the trees were here
when I disappeared
my mother walked in the street
she didn’t cry, she never did
father revolved the big things
didn’t err, he never did
when I disappeared (it was already dark)
the wind was here
and mother stood in front of the window
she didn’t cry, she never did
When father disappeared (it was dawn)
the trees were here
when he disappeared
my mother was home
she didn’t complain, she never did
when I saw my father (the sun up in the sky)
with his forehead sweaty
I hovered through the air, just over him
I circled, and he grabbed my arm
his laughter was hoarse and loud
when my mother kept silent that evening
When the pencil falls
Patiently conducted matters
framed before the pen commands
devise my thoughts on liberal ground
where silence and words germinate
Notion invented holds the other end
where I cherish all that I remember
where talk is the deed of the site I know
of fragile questions about the day and then
To write is to tolerate in a particular form
where truth is lost or covered with love
with unholy contingency or half invented fate
with false players given their narrative trump
There, when it ends, I leave my site
emptied chair where once they passed
and thinkers twisted their tired hands
when the pencil falls and all is done
framed before the pen commands
devise my thoughts on liberal ground
where silence and words germinate
Notion invented holds the other end
where I cherish all that I remember
where talk is the deed of the site I know
of fragile questions about the day and then
To write is to tolerate in a particular form
where truth is lost or covered with love
with unholy contingency or half invented fate
with false players given their narrative trump
There, when it ends, I leave my site
emptied chair where once they passed
and thinkers twisted their tired hands
when the pencil falls and all is done
Moment as compendium
Time is nothing more
than the things they are
in measureless streams
and uncountable cores
points of perceptions
are ideas about gods
unravelling views
in infinite star seas
me is just a cell of space
a sapient in the stream
bogged down in moments
littlest eternities thinkable
all is gone thereafter
self and all
1
or
0
than the things they are
in measureless streams
and uncountable cores
points of perceptions
are ideas about gods
unravelling views
in infinite star seas
me is just a cell of space
a sapient in the stream
bogged down in moments
littlest eternities thinkable
all is gone thereafter
self and all
1
or
0
The fallen bride
He flogs her universe
with storm and
damaging
motion
her bruise beaten womb
asks again
for
remission
but his little thunder
already goes loose in
her maimed
passé-partout
where once both her children
looked happily into the outside world
with storm and
damaging
motion
her bruise beaten womb
asks again
for
remission
but his little thunder
already goes loose in
her maimed
passé-partout
where once both her children
looked happily into the outside world
Night
Befuddle me, you scarce light
made reliance naked like dance
intimate prayer fingers spread
night bears heaven open all
so stars turn me like ash
strange reflections in stone and eye
Befuddle me, you scarce light
hang my dare and challenge me
I sail forth the days without
walk not ahead in circles round
night stands true and calm
nothing looses my delusion
is this self where I come?
Befuddle me, you scarce light
voices gone vanished word
all entire everyone perfect
past lies it’s symbolism
night makes his love
receptive me and all exists
made reliance naked like dance
intimate prayer fingers spread
night bears heaven open all
so stars turn me like ash
strange reflections in stone and eye
Befuddle me, you scarce light
hang my dare and challenge me
I sail forth the days without
walk not ahead in circles round
night stands true and calm
nothing looses my delusion
is this self where I come?
Befuddle me, you scarce light
voices gone vanished word
all entire everyone perfect
past lies it’s symbolism
night makes his love
receptive me and all exists
My soil
Glass of prolapsed windows
wherein my aging face
doesn’t recognize itself anymore
I look at the stationary clock
on the square
of the misted town
and the empty tram that waits
in the open street
I have to go back now, to the highlands
where the trees start waving more and more
and the wind merges with the voice
and the memories of my grandfather
wherein my aging face
doesn’t recognize itself anymore
I look at the stationary clock
on the square
of the misted town
and the empty tram that waits
in the open street
I have to go back now, to the highlands
where the trees start waving more and more
and the wind merges with the voice
and the memories of my grandfather
A mystery
That a mystery is just a mystery
and a tree bares his leaves
or a passenger passes by
for a short moment I know that it’s true
but as soon as I speak, all has gone
and I’m left alone with the silent words
that only mean what is impossible:
to be the passenger myself
or to give the tree a name
to touch it with my eyes
and a tree bares his leaves
or a passenger passes by
for a short moment I know that it’s true
but as soon as I speak, all has gone
and I’m left alone with the silent words
that only mean what is impossible:
to be the passenger myself
or to give the tree a name
to touch it with my eyes
Inability
Vertebrae full of surrealism in gusts of lucid frenzy
I shudder, breath pinches the throat like racked by
humanity and her illusory triumphs
I stand in doubt and scream against the infantile power
and her lethal aerial bustle
I impinge against
the stifling crowds
the judgemental unscrupulous
the smoothing phrasemonger
and against my inability
to partake
to connect
to renegade
to stop learning
to disavow pain
and never being left alone
I shudder, breath pinches the throat like racked by
humanity and her illusory triumphs
I stand in doubt and scream against the infantile power
and her lethal aerial bustle
I impinge against
the stifling crowds
the judgemental unscrupulous
the smoothing phrasemonger
and against my inability
to partake
to connect
to renegade
to stop learning
to disavow pain
and never being left alone
Halo
Eyes born out of contrivance swear along my golden halo
where hasty light unfolds and I conjure the demon away
water levels of lost years scatter my mouth
now the halo is stifled
I can speak again
and say:
hold me
where hasty light unfolds and I conjure the demon away
water levels of lost years scatter my mouth
now the halo is stifled
I can speak again
and say:
hold me
Africa corpse
The girl so deeply shot
the old woman strangled
the knife of demon power
cuts them deep and slow
today and then the next day
the sun will sow the deathfields
where spades dig on old time
and the wind dries the wet meat
the skeleton car without oil
rests near the empty house
smoke flees from it’s rear light
a child stares in fathers blood
where food disappears undigested
the old woman strangled
the knife of demon power
cuts them deep and slow
today and then the next day
the sun will sow the deathfields
where spades dig on old time
and the wind dries the wet meat
the skeleton car without oil
rests near the empty house
smoke flees from it’s rear light
a child stares in fathers blood
where food disappears undigested
Genesis
I sleep in light
of all alive
with eyes still closed
and a mouth full of water
my mother moves her snakelike belly
and crudely pushes my head through the hole
then the air solidifies the blood, laborious
- my screech through the empty space
is received with nervous laughter -
a strange woman (keeper of the unnamed ones)
looks up to the small clock
of the eternal beginning
sneaks away
and then I start
of all alive
with eyes still closed
and a mouth full of water
my mother moves her snakelike belly
and crudely pushes my head through the hole
then the air solidifies the blood, laborious
- my screech through the empty space
is received with nervous laughter -
a strange woman (keeper of the unnamed ones)
looks up to the small clock
of the eternal beginning
sneaks away
and then I start
For B.
Her body dazes my pure thought
naughty naked against me
I smother her mouth with words of air
she looks at my happy load
and falls
gracefully apart
like the shape-womb of my soul
her bed is water and vanishes
in slow motion
now the think-ravine has dried up
love can bleed copious
naughty naked against me
I smother her mouth with words of air
she looks at my happy load
and falls
gracefully apart
like the shape-womb of my soul
her bed is water and vanishes
in slow motion
now the think-ravine has dried up
love can bleed copious
Father (1)
When you were honored and me a child
I looked at the empty window
from the side of my empty bed
(on the opposite of the empty closet)
the great blue sky said:
everybody is happy
the smell of tobacco penetrated my loft
my breath silent, your sigh your work
then my eye noticed a strange pattern on the carpet,
or the buzzing of a soft springtime wind which greeted me
or
I was inaugurated, grandiose, in dreamy colors full
of sumptuous warmth and shameless delight
and fell asleep, an endless sleep
wherein I lost everything again and again
and your shadow became the amiable hangman
of my dim gleam
I looked at the empty window
from the side of my empty bed
(on the opposite of the empty closet)
the great blue sky said:
everybody is happy
the smell of tobacco penetrated my loft
my breath silent, your sigh your work
then my eye noticed a strange pattern on the carpet,
or the buzzing of a soft springtime wind which greeted me
or
I was inaugurated, grandiose, in dreamy colors full
of sumptuous warmth and shameless delight
and fell asleep, an endless sleep
wherein I lost everything again and again
and your shadow became the amiable hangman
of my dim gleam
A king from Hué
The city strolls a tram drags by
there I wait as usual
but now so different than before
- I cross the crowded street
and ask the expectation of now -
the rambler (always on the corner
without any money) asks or mentions
‘a king from Hué’
I return home and the wall
speaks the same language
or better: colors the question
when I, naked, search for my clothes
- the shower drips a short song
well, maybe only the rhythm -
my thinking wanders me well when I hear
the slow voice of the newsreader who
spreads his wings on the screen and reads:
‘a king from Hué’
Now dressed I leave home
while the reader continues
about nothing that’s already shown
- wherever I look or draw near
the conversations shift this human feast -
I animate myself until further notice
and grab a chair seat my feet
and shout:
‘a king from Hué!’
I am the man on the corner
of the street and the other street
I look along the battered roads of the whipped
and lost, on my way to the staggering labor
where sham betrays me and all of them
there is the man who stole my face
(his mouth unfolds like a lost echo)
and whispers:
‘a king from Hué’
I say something wild and woozy
as the nurse speaks to me
for a short moment
- I ask her what I want to say -
she reaches for my hand, I touch her softly
but suddenly she pulls away
and my pillow-fragments fall
in broad nights full of cold stars
above the South-Chinese Sea
there I wait as usual
but now so different than before
- I cross the crowded street
and ask the expectation of now -
the rambler (always on the corner
without any money) asks or mentions
‘a king from Hué’
I return home and the wall
speaks the same language
or better: colors the question
when I, naked, search for my clothes
- the shower drips a short song
well, maybe only the rhythm -
my thinking wanders me well when I hear
the slow voice of the newsreader who
spreads his wings on the screen and reads:
‘a king from Hué’
Now dressed I leave home
while the reader continues
about nothing that’s already shown
- wherever I look or draw near
the conversations shift this human feast -
I animate myself until further notice
and grab a chair seat my feet
and shout:
‘a king from Hué!’
I am the man on the corner
of the street and the other street
I look along the battered roads of the whipped
and lost, on my way to the staggering labor
where sham betrays me and all of them
there is the man who stole my face
(his mouth unfolds like a lost echo)
and whispers:
‘a king from Hué’
I say something wild and woozy
as the nurse speaks to me
for a short moment
- I ask her what I want to say -
she reaches for my hand, I touch her softly
but suddenly she pulls away
and my pillow-fragments fall
in broad nights full of cold stars
above the South-Chinese Sea
Bytor and the snowdog
Vault of ice slaves Bytor
possessed alive along abyss and storm
he doesn’t look back to gift or date,
lost while loped and threatened by elements
so far away of questions and streets
of return and departure his tranquil mind stills
now the white floor cracks and ruptures
on it’s progress to nothingness
with thick flakes and pale paper
of an empty newsprint that hits his cold face
for a moment there is
nothing more to see
than the deep trace
while the sleigh rages forth
over shocked ice
where the wind reacts surprised
when it hears the howling of the snowdog
possessed alive along abyss and storm
he doesn’t look back to gift or date,
lost while loped and threatened by elements
so far away of questions and streets
of return and departure his tranquil mind stills
now the white floor cracks and ruptures
on it’s progress to nothingness
with thick flakes and pale paper
of an empty newsprint that hits his cold face
for a moment there is
nothing more to see
than the deep trace
while the sleigh rages forth
over shocked ice
where the wind reacts surprised
when it hears the howling of the snowdog
Sun-gods
I dream of a city that is not gold, but real like an eye
I look at the glass made walls of numerous skyscrapers
and remember a silent movie
where the actor holds on to the clock and almost falls:
we shivered and laughed
(but her slow rolling tears have to wait for another moment)
I meet an Irish boy with a green card, he works here since fall
‘Buildings in Holland’: the title of a book he shows me, at his apartment,
with pictures of mills and farmers
battling the threatening water back home
(the slow and loud cry of the sirens outside blend with my voice)
I tell him about Brooklyn, Harlem and Amsterdam avenue
and cheerful we return to the modest restaurant where he
pours me a coke and I look to the nearby square where tramps
and students drown their time like sun-gods
I look at the glass made walls of numerous skyscrapers
and remember a silent movie
where the actor holds on to the clock and almost falls:
we shivered and laughed
(but her slow rolling tears have to wait for another moment)
I meet an Irish boy with a green card, he works here since fall
‘Buildings in Holland’: the title of a book he shows me, at his apartment,
with pictures of mills and farmers
battling the threatening water back home
(the slow and loud cry of the sirens outside blend with my voice)
I tell him about Brooklyn, Harlem and Amsterdam avenue
and cheerful we return to the modest restaurant where he
pours me a coke and I look to the nearby square where tramps
and students drown their time like sun-gods
Back at the house of permanence
He says: I give you all
all that you want
- and for a moment he returns to the
rooms full of antique and formal deed -
when he leaves, without a word
he doesn’t hear her swollen mood
while the empty reason rolls slowly
through the old bald hallway
he, the tiny cascadeur, sees:
a drowning man in diabolical race-cars
with a lied youth in his splintered skin
she, the infamous decline, sees:
the young girl who softly and estranged
caresses and licks his love
all that you want
- and for a moment he returns to the
rooms full of antique and formal deed -
when he leaves, without a word
he doesn’t hear her swollen mood
while the empty reason rolls slowly
through the old bald hallway
he, the tiny cascadeur, sees:
a drowning man in diabolical race-cars
with a lied youth in his splintered skin
she, the infamous decline, sees:
the young girl who softly and estranged
caresses and licks his love
All that she was
Her voice is her ability
to fail in her feign
- the groom of might sneaks behind her,
distorted man-tongue full of devils dissembling –
(his hands his horns)
the tear waters the term of strength
with eyes run through the sigh deprived
on the apterous man with whom she
is alone between wall and human
faithful to her fear, she cripples forth
drools a language through screaming night
(it is her sleep that watches over emptiness)
she now stands solely
in the lines of his hands
in the timbre of his scorn
in the sideline of his act
in a gesture of her son
to fail in her feign
- the groom of might sneaks behind her,
distorted man-tongue full of devils dissembling –
(his hands his horns)
the tear waters the term of strength
with eyes run through the sigh deprived
on the apterous man with whom she
is alone between wall and human
faithful to her fear, she cripples forth
drools a language through screaming night
(it is her sleep that watches over emptiness)
she now stands solely
in the lines of his hands
in the timbre of his scorn
in the sideline of his act
in a gesture of her son
