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.

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?

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
contingency 
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

burden

burden

 one carries

  is grave

   when each and every step

    buries itself

     deep in phantom pain

      leaving severe cracks

       in amputated bones

        fragile

         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

flickering

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 
Home
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

darkness

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

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

flickering

beautiful flare

every touch perishes
restrain!

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

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

nachmittags

um halb drei am heiligen abend

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?

Don’t! 
          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

                               beneath
        dried out lands

Tide within heartbeats

I know

you know I know

       
earth does not spin 
                 like a bottel!

Leaves

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
Spring

Idon’tknowwhybutforsomereasonIjustdon'tlikeSanta!

Santa

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?

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

smiling
at bale and wonder

earth swallows all

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

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!

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

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

Doesn't make it easier

Knowing

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.

fathoming

fathoming

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

pieces

every night

when nobody watches

the moon explodes into pieces

surrounding earth
firmly sticking together so

nobody takes notice

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

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.

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.

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

Adjusted

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

breathing

in mediocrity and indifference.