Friday, June 27, 2014

Beautiful with lanterns in the sky

Beautiful with lanterns in the sky
I told him it was my day
He couldn’t resist

Drawing fires into houses
Hanging birds from trees
Obsessed with feathers and leaves

He had collected the scent of autumn
The sweet swelling
A sour taste to it

I am of no importance
Better than fixed 
Under the prism of his eyes

If I had a nickel
I’d throw it
Without daring the wish

I remember something strange
We walked down the road
In a warm winter night

The picture of a blond girl
Hanging on the wall
Of a Portuguese ice cream parlour

In that moment
When all fish broke through ice
I knew to find a true friend

Whispers in the corner
I stayed away
Veiled myself with water

He is gone now
Be there, he said
And walked out of sight

Lucidity, I have to
Look up the word
In my wordless book of armor

Coins against milk


I sit under the fan
Detesting its rotation
Touching my hair
Detesting every swing

The door stays open
For the view
Into the neighbour’s
Scented prayer room

Bare walls and a clock
Under the window sleeps a park
Stretching its tongue
Into my womb

I watch fathers walking with sons
I watch women, I watch the gardener
I stay behind the metal barren
I watch

The little shop at the corner
Is obsessed with taping customers
Coins against milk
The sound of metal

There is no art here
There is no silence
There are only blades
and cows giving milk

white against white


liberty on a scarf
oh mighty, I will tackle
this attraction to Plath

days spent in a coma
of the waking dead
speak, who is it? Speak!

my name has no meaning
the world is a cup
I drink, anonymously

he eats dark pumpernickel
dark chocolate on top
he called - all the way from Germany

I never received the long distance
someone else had collected, instead
I looked at old magazines

extreme weather conditions
trees collide with cars
I watch the lake scene twice

an eye for detail
we inverse
we are very happy

Darcy dressed in quandary
I cannot resist and laugh
my head off

someone is obsessed now
with reconstructing my life
imagine, reliving my diet

there was a purple square on the scarf
ageless
my admiration

the relief of limitation, I abide
by a checkerboard
white against white

the queen also laughed
when the heads rolled
into the pond

a golden ball at the bottom
nobody’s quarry
algae on top

I saw an alabaster jar
someone must have lost it
in the spring valley

black against black
the trunk shoves the roots
deeper into darkening sky






Friday, June 13, 2014

But the violin


I saw this picture of a girl
that had been abducted
more than a hundred and
twenty years ago

They took her
on a cold winter morning
when she was playing
at the lake with fresh snow

Everyone pretended
not to hear a thing
but the violin.
She was extraordinary talented,
her face - delicate features of a Navaho 



Part of the deep


I remember sitting on the slope of a Himalayan mountain
In the shade of a rock, waiting for him
Some thing had faded
Something was overgrown
Nothing determinate, the spring
Below, hidden in a gorge, I would find it
Only after having lost everyone
He told me to carry on alone
Riding a horse made of wood, I wouldn’t whisper
The horse wouldn’t neigh, I wouldn’t ride it
I discovered the spring, and I was the only one

I remember being in a submarine’s gangway
It was too tight to stretch out my arms
Control boards and portholes, I imagined
Becoming part of the deep
Sleeping sacks stapled onto each other
Soldiers in stack, someone was bleeding
Someone had wounded his head, someone
Was blowing the horn, or was it a trumpet
The warlords had called for a final dance on deck
While I made charcoal drawings of people
That were already dead

I remember switching seats from aisle to window
Because the conductor rubbed his boner on my right arm
You were praying with pearls while heat and wind
Leathered my skin, all was meditation
We were without water and when I left the bus
The same man touched my left breast with his right hand
Before touching his chin, were you there
When I spat into the lake, were you there
When he blinked and the sky turned grey
A group of men raped two girls and hanged them
On a tree, I look and see the bark
Giving way for carvings representing our love


I remember sitting on an armchair, they asked me
To dance but I wouldn’t, they asked me
To drink, I would only take one sip, they asked me
To speak but I had nothing to say, they asked me
To stay when I was leaving, they always asked me
Though I had no answers
But I had a smile and a nice looking gown

I remember a cool summer day without walking
I was between one and two, someone
Had placed me on a chair in the garden
I watched birds feeding fledglings
Flying in and out as if nothing else
Was worth dying for, they must be all gone
And dead by now, I am still here
But here has changed and changed have I
Into the portray of another person
They are feeding me now and all I remember
Are birds and their fledglings
Hushing out and in

Thursday, June 12, 2014

The surface


They climb over walls to hunt her down and hang her
Let’s follow them a little, just for the spectacle
I haven’t been to a show in years
One of these compositions that slowly build up
In the spectator’s eyes
The glitter of years
Marks the surface of nightmares
Hanging feet up, head down
Lion teeth garland a tiny girl’s neck
Everybody wants to shoot
In the end, a wild race of perverts
The first image is sold to the highest bidder
Who never admits looking at what hangs
Inside those glaring eyes