Wednesday, May 17, 2017

after midnight

seasons change
things turn
into poetry again

i find myself in dense situations
after midnight
when the house sleeps
he visits
always after midnight

i tried to erase
his impressions from my skin
slowly while waking
next to his fearful dreams
in anticipation of endings
without closure

for months on end
many moons watched over me
watched how i fed
myself to his hunger
now i am half the being
i was before

a stranger knocks on my door
walks into my prayer room
i let him in, let him see
my collection of marbles
shattered on the floor
every single one of them

every now and then
i must cut myself open
must swallow thick blood
memories that once made me smile
now stain my lips, my cheeks
my tongue is too heavy
to rhyme or to sing

i am human tragedy
drowning repeatedly
waves, skyscraper-high
crushing down on me
can you imagine the cruelty
of a single one of them?
they left me
here on purpose

he watched that
he stood at the window with the moon
he knocked on my door
he knows every thing

come and cut fruits for me instead
feed me sweet new melodies

after midnight
the sound of your song
is a safety zone
i feel sane here
without fear and madness
inside the voice of your poem
may i?
sleep next to you, stranger
and your warming fire
watch you from afar
as siblings do

i remain white
silent inside my storm
i promise i am really trying
to be wild and dancing
full of life again
i promise one day
i will again
be colourful and smiling

Friday, May 12, 2017

two metal blades

life presses
a soul to the ground

turns her
into a helpless bug

pedaling, first hastily
with time slowing down

her cumulated feelings

to two main sentiments
and their variant forms of absence

two metal blades
tightly merged with each other

inside a funneled

fear and love
their absence


Tuesday, March 21, 2017

leftover liabilities

in early morning hours, dreams
haunt us
into trials of our imperfections
scar under my eye
eternal leftover
that once meant eternal love
now a pathway of tears
into every woman‘s cup
hidden under windows
geared towards the moon
about density of heartbeats
strange new rhythms housing silent moods
I am scared of speaking
to you, my forsaken dream
nothing is real outside
the velvet fabric
covering my sleep
i hear sorrow
in your words and cry into the melody
of a woman‘s voice
drenching my tiny room's wall
with songs about her longing and her pain
who can sleep
when the air is dense
with the heat of arguments that
remain unspoken
remain uncared for
wounded bleeding feet
carry us 
into fire
into gleaming heat
leftover liabilities
keep walking
keep your head up
search for that gorge
at the end of every creek
until you find what your soul asks for
until she is satisfied
and lets us
in her giant lap
where finally we
may halt in embrace
and fall
into deep condoning sleep

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Saturday, March 11, 2017


Ich erinnerte dich
Es waren einmal
Du und ich, heute
Ermattet, vergilbte
Es waren einmal
Du und ich, damals
Ein Fenster, angelehnt
Die Asche fiel
Neben den Becher
Deine Augen, tiefer
Der Regen
Du und ich
Neben einander
Du und ich
Die Augen tiefer
Der Regen
Am Fenster
Die Asche fiel
Es waren einmal

Geräumig, mein Haus

Wir sprechen wieder von Anfängen
Ersten Malen, ganz unschuldig
Aufs Neue, geräumig, mein Haus
Der Mond malt ein Lied für mich
Ich schaue ihm dabei zu
Warte geduldig auf den Morgen

Ins nasse Gras

Zog Stufen von der Decke
Während er die Geige stimmte
Schluchzte in die immer gleiche Anfangsfuge
Nichts drang mehr an mein Ohr
Alles war jetzt viel zu weit
Gegangen, weiter noch als je zuvor
Ein Fremdes blieb stumm vor mir
Eine dunkle Pfütze längst vergilbter Schmelze
Reste nur, nicht mal mehr Erinnerung
Schwang einen Mantel Schnee um mich
Zu wärmen meine frierende Gestalt
An seiner blauen Kälte

Darunter drängten Glöckchen
Setzte mich ins nasse Gras
Dem rauschenden Fest
Dem vorigen Jahr

Vogelnester krallten sich 
An Zweige
Rutschte ab und krallte mich
An meterhohe Wellen
Zwischen Sonnenstrahl und Tümpelgrund
Tat sich ein Schlund auf
Im Stadtgartenteich 
Gibt es jetzt wohlgenährte Enten
Sie treffen sich
Sie treffen sich

Wednesday, March 08, 2017

Er ist nun ein Anderer

Sie rissen ihm die Haare vom Kopf
Kahlschlag im Morgentau
Der Winter hat die Bäume verschluckt
Hinter mir der Lärm von Sägen

Ich gehe mutlos heim
Der Wald steht still und traurig da
Bin wieder für mich allein
Er ist nun ein Anderer

Thursday, January 05, 2017

a silent frequency

soft skin
tucked to your shoulder
gazing eyes
tiny reflections
a moving star?
endless void?
winter‘s icy dust
foretelling tomorrow‘s dreams.
foretelling tomorrow‘s screams.
only calculations
we can never be sure

can u hear the sound
my fluttering lung
breathing into your chest
i am tripping on you
dream along, my lover!
universe‘s vastness
is without end
we do not exist
beyond imagination
meaning is illusion
dust blocking my ear

feel the vibes
no one can hear
falling apart
new frequencies
i am
humming along
i am
not a singer
teach me
how to be
a musician‘s silent muse
dancing on
fragile lines
no one
has been humming before

intricate memories
carving a house we call home
inside our hearts
cold and empty rooms
filled with the warmth of rhythms
hugging us
an undercoat in winter
cooling us
in summer like the sea

oh lover, why?
do you choose to be freezing
choose to be burnt
is there a melody
when every answer is silence
we only can be
swinging along
a silent frequency
that no one will hum
and millions will hum
after we are gone

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

The numbers are rising

It is spring here and cold
I’ve locked myself into a small town
Doing small town business
En route between Turmwall and community park
I commit to a life with dog
Paint my fingernails blue
Deep in the woods I realize
That the wood isn’t deep here
Neither is the river, water up to my chest
I wade into ordinary sceneries
Of couples kissing behind ivy fences
Holding hands on the way to the supermarket
Folding hands in church
Someone told me the numbers are rising
I sit down on a bench and wait
For the deer to disappear
It remains wishful thinking
I must build my own gallery
If I want to see some real art here
Blue fingernails and stuff
We are told to teach numbers to those who have come here
For a new beginning
We start counting with one
We speak about time
We speak about habits and cultures
The difference
They always focus on the difference first
Where are those embracing similarity
Do we still believe in synchronicity
And what about rainbows and wet grass under our feet
Every patch seems dried out though
It is raining, it is cold, it is spring
We start counting with one
Then we speak about the difference


After three hours of 
Non/stop talking
You finally convinced me to lie down
Inside your coffin
Just for one night, you said
Maybe I just wanted you to shut up!
I don’t exactly remember what
Made me agree and go for it
Maybe it was the drink
Or it was the daring

Now I lie here, remembering how
The last ray of light
Escaped my shirt
When u shut the lid
Baby, I am sure
It is beyond morning
It must be midday
Or early afternoon
Everything is silent
I cannot hear
A single tune
From my fingernails
Knocking on wood

Rotating above my head

Last night you read your dialogue to me
I ceased all my speaking
Now you know all my words

I looked into the bottle
Muddy fluids, I refuse
To voices in your head

You write in capital letters, a banner
Hanging above the neighborhood
Everyone knows now
Everyone is informed
Gossip always spreads

I seem to be unaware
Of my own thoughts
You put them down so nicely
Every letter in beautiful calligraphy
Who wouldn’t believe
The beauty of your words

A story like a heavy wheel
Rotating above my head

Is anyone out there
Is anyone still out there
Is anyone out there still without regret

A rotating shell

There has been silence for weeks
Words dried inside my throat
Before reaching the cave, my tongue
Longing for fluids, let’s make it sharp,
Some hot stuff, I’m used to sensation
I feel watched, every letter I speak
Turns into a textbook
Printed by a no-name publisher
To become part of the rows in your shelf
You are my only collector
You rip apart what you don’t approve
I am scared now to speak, to think, to whisper
My mind
A rotating shell, emptied out
Swimming in dreams of a dream
Lost in the night
You wandered off to your war zone
And left me alone in the pitch black park
The wooden bench too cold to be seated
I stood there, worried, for seconds
Filled with painful hours

Every second on endless repeat

Monday, November 23, 2015

The colour of intensity

When leaving this ship
That carried us for so many years, there was
No path paved with flowers
Cold earth and pointed stones
Painted the soles of our feet
Red, the colour of crust that hardened our skin
The same colour as the toy car
Fading in your childhood garden
Stalled in an eternal autumn
I didn’t own these memories
You engraved them in my nervous system
Now I carry them for you and you carry my groceries
Very pragmatic and simple and easily taken for granted

We walk, flakes on our lashes
Filling our traces with names
That turn into poetry
When written into snow
Whitewashed wonderland
Whose prerogative?
Whose love?
Whose hatred and whose promises?
Salty tears in everyone’s cup.
Do I really have to tell you this?

Your ship will always differ from mine. And I will think of you
Smoking at the window, looking down into a street
That is nothing but a memory. I wished
I could rebuild the city around your view of emptiness
Empty houses, empty pavements, I could relay
Those warm, pulsating arteries. But I cannot. I can
Only listen and write. So we do not forget
The colour of intensity
The colour of regret

Monday, November 09, 2015

Saturday, November 07, 2015

In darkest night your heart is a crow

The stars grew in you
You carried them in your hair
In your heart you carried them
Your lungs breathing stardust
I followed those traces lingering in midair
Every now and then you tilted your head
A gesture of resemblance, escaping
From a faraway land, horses
Running bloody traces into sand
I had learned to read them
Making our conversations equal
In an otherwise unequal stand
A river heading towards the ocean
Drawing mysteries, black and white fairy-tales
Sleepless, restless wonderland
In my dreams I am a pillow
Bedding dreams, many shades darker than mine
The souls of all those dying
Forming a fearless lump
In a heart too young to die, you
Would jump, I know that, without hesitation
Into the thorny garden that was placed here
Five thousand years before our conversations
I am fearful for you, I am fearful
For my heart to beat in your hand
Like an injured sparrow eager to fly
We will send the creature home
Again and again cutting the cords
Weaving our organs into one blanket made of one wool
In darkest night your heart is a crow
And I shiver because you fly 
And leave me behind at the window
Gazing at stars that carry your soul

Monday, August 31, 2015

Cold planets

Something’s strange today
The clock is ticking slightly
Off beat
I listen to talking heads
They spotted me on Mars in a night gown

That night when you turned to
A wolf, I could not differentiate
I could not make you out
You are the great pretender
Maybe I am neurotic, hysterically blind
Who said that I did not want to see
The fire burning down your house

I remember the entrance to your house
After that everything went red
The carpets, the ceilings, even the curtains
A blue spot
Floating in the air
A drip of water, a tear
You had placed it there
In the middle of the room
Exactly in the middle from every side
I spent weeks to verify it

Always running into the same trap
A pitcher full of magic and I take a deep dive
Only to dissolve into some weird creature
Crumbled into the corners of a bed
Watching movies while outside
Water runs into cliffs and people
Run into trains
And trees turn into woods

It’s very important
You said and then you said
For a very long time
Longer than eternity
That’s why it was important

Now I spend my nights on cold planets
There is no way to figure out
The secret of spurts
Is their fabric
Who wants to listen
To voices underground
I imagine elevators passing by
Some of them upside down
One can stand on the ceilings
Or hang from the floors
All of them red

Have you ever wondered
Why it is worth the effort
Certainly you have
Everyone does and thinks
He is special
A special bug drowning in a puddle
A butterfly with a broken spine
Because the cat was faster
But not fast enough to go through with it
It's absurd, isn't it

Wednesday, August 05, 2015


Ein goldener Kreis unter der Wunde
Ich übermale den Schmerz
Denke an loses Gefieder
Unter dunkelgrünen Weiden

Vertrocknete Atrappen
Waren einst der Blumenwiese Zier
Bleiben zurück als leblose Pappen
So manches Leben verdorrt zu Papier

Tuesday, August 04, 2015


Ich photographiere jetzt
Löwenmäulchen und schicke sie dir.
Auf das Mäulchen antwortest Du,
doch darauf, dass ich Deine Nachricht
nie vom Tisch entfernte, nicht.
Ich bin in der Gegend.
Ich stecke die Gegend ab.
In Gedanken durchsuche ich sie
nach Deiner Anwesenheit, damals schon
folgte ich der Anweisung nicht.
Ich lernte, auf Betonböden
Rituale zu zeichnen,
Labyrinthe, hätte ich sie
mir nur eingeprägt.
Heute durchstreife ich
haushohe Felder und finde
und finde den Mittelpunkt nicht.