everything you thought about me

 

it isn’t real

that rainbow, that tree, that forest

it isn’t real

do you hear me

my voice isn’t real

the rain, the birds, the sun

my thoughts – not real

not even my imagination

everything you thought about me

it isn’t real

the photograph, the memory

the mirror

isn’t real

dropped

the track

do you realize

dropped

the last note

never ended

never 

sending a demand for your rage

 

sending a demand for your rage

that bulldozer

drive it over me

levelling out

the canyons I created

finally levelling out

tectonics plates

earthquakes

mountain ranges

drive it over me

drive it

no perfect line

 

no neat ending

no perfect line

no coming full circle



just a hot and heavy mess

planets crashing into stars



abandoned futures

meant to be futures

ended

before we even pictured them



not making the turn

at that one intersection

one crossing

one point in time



alive and half gone

still alive, the cosmos

looking at itself within 

me? - decaying corpse

liver and bowel and bladder

ha, my eyes are blind

my corners are mine

look somewhere else 

I won’t show you a thing!

swallowed whole

decades of being

a plausible deniability

 

trapping myself

in the throat of a lion

that cannot bend

to accommodate 

me

 

swallowed whole

silence returns

 

all of them at once

there are at least four hundred layers

to this conversation

 

a million endings

left unsaid

 

stay inside

the infinite whirling machine

missed chances, alternate futures

a cocktail of synchronicities

 

do you believe in telepathy? I don’t.

in coincidences? maybe

statistical anomaly

let’s hand it over to science

 

let’s go on with mundane lives

a mundane world

nobody cares about the blindsided

cares about whispers

cares about handwritten letters

and their ink, the velocity

 

you call it weather forecast

turning into a drizzle

the feeling of rain on skin

it is very real to me 

 

how to forecast a feeling

that sucks you out of the concrete 

 

I drift inside all four hundred layers

all of them at once

 

the entire signature of significance

the ink is hot and red 

what does it mean?

 

 

When you captured my eyes

They captured you

 

Twelve years have passed

Now I see you

 

For the first time 

With your eyes in mine 

 

 

 

Really okay

 

After seven years we started a conversation.

About stagnation and the pandemic abyss.

I am really ok, he said.

We are all really ok. 

I trust you on this one.

I said.

And deleted my thoughts

and the conversation. 

giant masses, jammed

I circle around the red

dot of futility, center

of intricacy

moth, lantern

volatile, fickle

arrowhead

indoctrinating the board

under my bed

what are we here for

if the aim is not to win

water to currencies

rivers to dams

harvesting gravities

giant masses, jammed

i dance

to the sound of debris

falling into sand

rising tunes

preying on my nights

chewing on my eyes

gnawing on my skin

towers inside dreams

crumble from within

still i climb to be closer

to be sky

to be moment

when everything i torment

finally gives in

in my pocket

today i aimed for a higher purpose

casting all books aside

a letter fell to the ground

its words

without weight

only the blue

and how it had been absorbed

crevices and changed seasons

in my pocket

heavy

yet feeling light

by heart

I know you by heart

every beat an echo

the pulse a symphony

my ears a dome

I know you by heart

am deaf now

or the birds are quiet

the forest is covered in snow

i knew you by heart

read you like a compass

into a map

i‘m out of directions

it‘s not even

the right planet anymore

drifting outer space

all directions upside down

blue

it‘s one of those days: blue

bright blue sky / dark blue mind
somehow the blues are not integrating
the harder I try - the further they grow apart
    blue/blue

the ocean would be
a welcome change of scenery
you know horizon
seperates it from sky
salty water dries your lips
paints them
    blue/blue/blue

join me for a desert ride

nomads know 

the use of indigo
cover your skin
decorate your chin
a symbolic tatoo
the needles are sharp

pointing at you
    blue/blue/blue/blue

what will you do
with all that
    blue
not integrating
an entire planet
might be falling 

apart
a zillion pieces
opening out 

between
you and you
blue

the commuter

now, here 

back in the dark

trying to grasp the split of a truth

that your sudden call after me

left in my mind, an axe 

split my thought in two halves and i realised

one was the future and one was the past

 

just the person in front of me

wasn‘t to be found in either part

you changed, i thought

but didn‘t risk to speak

cz you were still changing all the while and

i did not dare to interrupt the transformation

with judgments or labels or words, utterances

i would be asked to spit out, reveal the measurements

for the distance between our past and the now.

all i could see was that the now

you inhabited so insecurely fine

this new dress was distant from the future

this version wouldn‘t stream again through my town

 

a fragile kiss on a bridge crossing a mighty river

 

connecting two sides of a dream, all the same

in the past and the future, give me your hand, i say

 

you wouldn‘t listen, wouldn‘t follow

 

after the bridge collapsed i saw you

disappear on the other side into an alleyway

called distance to you.myself, maybe mars

 

sincerely yours,

the commuter

navel of the world

being obsessed with a person

a singer, writer, painter, poet, musician

being obsessed with the idea that

by obsessing one could reach a deeper understanding

a core that upon touching magically explodes

into a starry nighttime sky where you and I

experience the omphalos of existence: love.

being obsessed with the idea that

after they‘ve been cut, we could somehow retie

our umbilical chords, the navel of the world

resides in a museum in Delphi, I got us two tickets

let‘s go and check it out.

Wherever I might stand

To you I am a puzzle piece

That fell to the ground

Neglected and out of sight

To be turned around
When things don‘t add up anymore

To be measured from all sides
Wherever I might stand 

Looked at as if I was newly born

For were there no memories

Slowly crawling up
To the table's knees

Soon, they will reach surface

Tell me brother, why was I given this curse

Couldn‘t you hunt down a much simpler breed

One that wouldn‘t have crawled up

The pile of memories, one

That wouldn‘t have looked

Under anyone‘s surface

To be turned around
When things don‘t add up anymore
To be measured from all sides
To you, I am but a puzzle piece

Tell me  brother, why was I given this curse

Tell me, please, that it all might be part
Of a fucking higher purpose