Saturday, December 31, 2011

It's all about meat and milk, he says

It’s always as if something gets pressed through a sieve
In a huge silo and then drips into an old and cranky lunar lander

And all we can do is rumbling about small and big steps
Of those who pretend they can build castles in space

Or underwater claiming insistently they have the key
To the hatch in the roof, well not exactly to the hatch

But to the ladder to the hatch, which belongs to a brother
Of the farmer with the sieve in some country's hinterland

And I go for coffee with this farmer who only drinks tea
And ask him whether he ever takes a day off, at least

His cattle should have Sunday from time to time, to find a moment
Of joy in this world's beautiful nature, meadows and fields

Surrounding their place of production, milk, milk, milk
It’s all about meat and milk, he says, never mind the meadows

While he stirs in his tea with opaque eyes that always
Have a water film on surface but never cry because

He was raised that way as we were all in the one or the other
Time when we could still look at the moon with awe

Wondering why she grows and shrinks and in which direction
She encircles the world coming up from behind in pitch-black nights

While we were chauffeured in cars by fathers from places to places
Gazing at the sky pretending to count stars but actually already then

Despising it all, the smoke of cigarettes blown into our minds and the urging
Questions again and again being unheard because we were told

We were too small to speak up so we learned to be patient with sucking injustices
Contemporaneously blown away by the heroic doctrine to never give up

Breathing, breathe, breathe, take a deep breath and when you've inhaled
Long enough you will see everything turns out alright only that it doesn’t

On its own! Until one day we are sick of inhaling and stop breathing
Because it’s time for us to stop. Next thing we know is we find ourselves

Next to cattle
On the moon.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

One ocean

We believe in a moon
that tightens the ocean
but not in souls 
tightening dreams
of other souls dreaming.
Is not there only one 
fabric of dreams
entwined in the world’s one 
and only ocean?

fish ate it

fish is hooked
on the boulter
of poetry

angler threw it.
fish ate it.
whose fault?

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Feeling alpine

Sometimes it is silence
that makes a valley dense.
Time to climb on top and scream!

this heart will sustain

beware! the journey is long
and cluttered 
with fear and illusion
comfort yourself in the strength of time
that carries your line 
all along to eternity
among every thread
of those who were and those to come
I might be always wrong
but this I know for sure
all one needs is trust and a beating heart
that is pure and does not part 
but suffers the pain, keeps burning
despite all yearning when rain 
pours on fire of sacrificed desire
this heart sustains its burning beat
against each and every arising steep
keeps walking, it must!

awakened again

forget the speedy train
there is no need to run
take the tram
watch landscapes passing by
can you see them walk?
can you hear them talk?
listen to the sky
where birds ascend
awakened again by a rising sun
circling around towers
aware of tired hours
resting now and then
do they wonder why

with calm continuity

walk a bit slower
supported by a shoulder
stoic smoke dissolves
and thwarting silence stirs
forgotten melodies
carrying a tune 
of serenity and peace

can you walk
to those precincts sans order
with calm continuity
countenance in chaos
bearing a glaring
that holds in its core
every future
no promises, yet
in creation and absurdity

if you break

don’t tell me you can’t carry
any more!
pillar of brilliance
if you break all deludes
in shallow resilience
mystifying those
deceived by crocks of gold

Tuesday, December 27, 2011


 one carries
  is grave
   when each and every step
    buries itself
     deep in phantom pain
      leaving severe cracks
       in amputated bones
         from leaping splintered tracks
          devoid of limbs and lungs
           consuming those 
            whose nerves grow 
             beyond the bounds of bodies

there is only this valley but one can
choose a slightly different direction
and listen to rain
it washes faces and dilutes some pain

tiny cracks in ice

when light shies away
dreams cannot be
beautiful on the edge
between flame and perfect darkness
remembering all promises
tiny cracks in ice
time to ashes
future to past
vows to memory

A fish falls

A fish falls into a trolley
His heart is grave
The fisherman
Cannot carry him 
Slowly he trudges
Through the soup
Waiting to slip
Into airy pockets

trim of meander

time pervades all
even water 
in a trim of meander
I drew 
in between numbers
when school was 
still life

on the edge

shadows claim grounds
breathing into air
what never wilts

on the edge of light

some dreams sleep
beneath dreams
snowflakes under snow
drops on the ground of a lake
the very last to melt and dry
never late

Monday, December 26, 2011

beautiful flare

where you want me to go
I wonder does it turn 
all light into ashes
beauty to darkness
on the edge of a flame
pending and fragile
where no one remains
beautiful flare
every touch perishes

She washed them

She washed them
Those dresses she burned
Hoping to cool them
In the lake near her house

When she looked
At all their sodden darkness
She saw my cold face
Within reflection

She reached out and broke
Through the lake's surface
Swallowing hands

She buried her feet in sand
Threw her head under water
And saw through my mouth
Creatures passing by

They looked her in the eye
Not shying away nor pretending
They seemed beyond anything
She understands

One of them kissed her
She fell apart
Into floating gravel
Leaving all shadows on land

Now she must dive 
Among us in rivers
Streams of an ocean 
Nurturing mouths of shadows on land

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Its beauty grows from beneath

I lay myself before you
wherever you walk
do not mind
your footsteps leaving marks
all over me

Do you ever notice
a carpet’s threads 
changing direction
assuming a different 
pattern of glow?

It depends on your steps
this pattern I show
its beauty grows 
from beneath those routes
you dare to walk

Choose wisely is all I ask
dampening rocks
bridging rivers
I foresee your steps
but choice lies within
- only you know -

gleich viel

sehen gleich viel abgekämpfter aus
diese zugeklappten
weihnachtsbudendeckel beim spaziergang
um halb drei am heiligen abend

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Weight of all hearts

Weight of all hearts
wrapped in stormy hair
spinning over lodestones

How many stones to bury a lake?
flooding fields under my nails

How many songs does a bird sing?
with no land to land on
before throwing herself in water
How long will she swim?

How many days will we believe?
in sunset and talk
about sunrise
before we march

Is it light that forms the core
of my lake’s darkness
or is it darkness that beats
            light within my core?

When we get lost
are paths too entangled
           or is it lack of ray density?

Is it your dreams
is it my needle
I feel 
without sight
                            I’m spinning, airborne!

           How could you dare
           write about snowflakes,
          and make me read glaciers?
          melt them to words

Is there just this song
                                 and did you know
its melody before 
            tones conquered a heart?

Where is it heading
and why am I freezing
              trapped in a desert
under three suns
touching my skin?

I’m sleeping on dry sand
no ribbon
to tame my long hair
                      wrapped around fingers
                     digging out rocks
to find buried rivers
        dried out lands

Tide within heartbeats
I know
you know I know
earth does not spin 
                 like a bottel!


I wonder whether leaves
Turn from green to autumn
When wine drops
Into cells
That have only known water
And I wonder 
Was there always autumn 
In them or did they lose

Thursday, December 22, 2011



Fucking hell it’s so dark outside!!
Even angels wouldn’t mind fire!
Who told clouds to hide all light?
Probably Santa, this big fat occupier!

Partikel im Flow~ ow

3D animierte
partikel im flow ~ ow
klebstoffsüchtige untertassen
-                  don’t fix it if it’s not broken!
ich schnüffel am lamettagift
        lass kinder zweige schmücken.
                                             der chor übertönt
die nachtmusik hinten im letzten gang
         kniet einer, der zu itunes wiegt
    in weihrauchgedanken
beschwert sind alle lider.

I talk to you. I have a voice.
I had a voice but you wouldn’t listen.
I have a voice only when you listen?
Is not to be heard the same as
remaining in silence?

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

earth swallows all

the tears, the pain
the lightening, the rain
the bloodstreams of souls
wrenched and leaked out
driveling jaws with sapful lips
relishing mouths
at bale and wonder

earth swallows all

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

the cord

cut the cord in darkest shade
with sanded shear
draped around your sisters’ heads
bury it secretly 
within hollow roots

grow and blossom

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Combustion heart sequence machine

Is‘ mein Hirn zu groß fürs Herz, mein Herz zu groß fürs Hirn?
Das Hirn macht meistens Terz, das Herz fängt an zu flirr’n.
There is always excessive surplus steam!
I need a combustion heart sequence machine!

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Isn't there always a serious soul behind the most hilarious humorist? Otherwise it most likely is nothing but a calvish comedian.

Thursday, December 08, 2011

I did not expect

when I put my funnel
underneath your roof
to catch some drops of water
I did not expect
a rainstorm to come
and appease my thirst
stretching the funnel
till it almost burst
it is too strong to burst
but it brims over

but when

indifference of time
towards injustice
that justice could turn
into difference
not today
but when

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

Doesn't make it easier

about humans’ capability
of infinite self-deception
doesn’t make it easier
for the critical mind,
on the contrary,
it makes it harder
to seek and find.


is having a meal that grows while
eating it

The gap

Replacing the voice
the echo forced its reverberation
to overturn a pitch
and burst the timbre
turning overamplified sensation
into silent resonance
tensely fulminating
the gap
between lightning and thunder.

almost forgot

when was the last time
I picked up apples
long ago
almost forgot
they do not drop
into baskets


every night
when nobody watches
the moon explodes into pieces
surrounding earth
firmly sticking together so
nobody takes notice

Tuesday, December 06, 2011

In a frozen jungle

Breathe into thin air and draw a circle
around the good and the bad
colours that mingle
into flakes of white snow

I heard of fairy tales in a frozen jungle
where trees talk
to each other about birds

They ascend and disappear
carry feeble birds with frozen wings
when it is too cold to sleep and sing

One tree fell into the middle
another lifted its roots
to go and find a black carpet
underneath which white snow
could be hidden from migrating birds

He never came back and
the tree in the middle
opened its trunk and closed it
when storms grew heavy

Monday, December 05, 2011

The substance of awe

The substance of awe emanating from machine-age-inspiring excellence is incomparable to 
the substance of awe emanating from sublimity of just one infinitesimal thought by a sensitive thinker.
The latter is of a completely different fabric, 
nonvolatile, adhesive and emphatically insistent to synaptic processes steering the mind.

Glad I don't own a smart phone. Otherwise I might never feel what it means to get lost.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

What tables must carry

It is always about stiff old men
This poetry of weeping willow
Wiping up suspended breath
Of villainous crime
Carried through by rope or pillow
Leaving out the ladies’ drapes
Not hanging on arms
Nor sliding on side
Breaking high heels
On family heads
Passing along dining room sets
Where windows reflect
What tables must carry
When still life art is put aside
To offer up pride of decoration

Counting breaths crawling through thresholds

It’s not easy to face him
faceless not reflected by mirror
always hiding underneath
skin that crumbles
in cold air and stretches in heat
like any skin a pretender
a dark man loving to climb trees
and jump off cliffs in the night
without knowing whether it is ground or sea
he will dash into.
In some nights he comes to my house
and sits on a metal chair
bringing it in from I don't know where
quiet and static behind the kitchen sill
watching cars in the street, passengers, 
streetlights reflected in rain 
dropping from window panes
while I try to sleep in the other room
counting breaths crawling through thresholds
longing to breathe into me 
what he sees but cannot tell
I am not sure 
whether I want to know
and hold my breath till it is morning.

Saturday, December 03, 2011

So viele schlaue Sprüche, alles schon gesagt, gab’s schon mal, wieder nix Neues, jaja, blabla, ermüdend, alles längst kartographiert. 

Friday, December 02, 2011


It’s restive and recalcitrant
Rebellious at times this spirit

Turning desire into passion
When clearing out what is true

Doesn’t assort any adjusted
Star spattered sky

Sealing crevices

I was here all the time
busy in my emptiness room
sealing crevices lest they augmented
while you were chafing your own way through
all my filling
I had stuffed into walls
making them stronger, dampening sounds
wailing out hopes
dreams and desires molding my mind.

As soon as I rest 
crevices grow 
ramifications I do not want
to come out of hiding.
Cracks could ease wounds 
of silken fingers digging through mold.

I keep myself busy
keep you afar, keep myself inside
stiffening walls
repeat myself, head on my hand
repeat myself, hand on my head
not daring to break what wrenches shoulders
and sprains my chest in unbearable pain
since I forget
in mediocrity and indifference.